The battle with myself

Every morning I wake up, and my hand immediately reaches down. I feel for my stomach. Is it flat today? Can I feel my ribs? How much do I need to suck in before I can? I turn to my side and feel my stomach from one side to the next. Is it flat? How is it shaped? Will today be a baggy shirt and pants day? I get up from the bed and immediately go to the bathroom. I take off all my clothing and stare at myself in the mirror. I analyze every part of me. I turn to both sides and look at my stomach. Suck in and search for any sizes of fat. Breath out and look.
Some days I want to cry. I step on the scale and look at the number. Watch as it either moves up or down. Usually, it stays the same. I always step and check more than once. On great days and on bad days, I hop on and off the scale four or five times before I accept the number on the scale. I try on three or four outfits before I finally decide to wear a little old t-shirt and maybe a sweatshirt. When I am out and walk past a mirror or window where my reflection is visible, I cannot help but stop. I try and see how I look. If I look bloated. If I am with people, I do quick glances, and I hope I can see. I hope I can see something that makes me smile; however, it rarely does. I was not always like this. These thoughts were not constantly in my head. But as I have grown up, I have come to acquire this fear of gaining weight. I set a boundary for myself. If I pass this set weight, I refuse to eat until it is back down. The days I lose a significant amount of weight, 2 or 3 lbs, I am scared to eat. I fear eating or drinking anything will raise the number on the scale.
My mind plays on repeat the “loving advice,” I have heard from friends and family. “Honey, you need to watch your weight. If there was a line of girls and a guy had to pick, he wouldn’t choose you if you were fat”, words that haunt me. Words that mixed with my fear of abandonment torment me. Every comment on weight, size, heavy, anything that my mind can twist to be about me and my size sticks in my head. I hear someone say, “There is no way you are a size 4 that is so big” when they see the pants on the rack, and I want to run and hide. Now every time I see my size, I want to cry. I want to hide from the world. When I feel myself losing control over my weight, I put myself on my magical 800 calorie diet. Or 1 meal a day. Sometimes not even. There have been days where I eat maybe a bowl of cereal and keep myself busy to forget. When I feel my life turning for the worst, my brain jumps to my body. Perhaps if I was skinnier, they would like me more. Back on the 800 calorie diet, I go. See, I call it magical because I lose weight and fast. Two weeks and I am down almost 10 lbs. This challenges me to try and go lower, lose faster. Over time it comes back. Once I leave this magical diet. I watch every day as the number rises again. The fear is growing again with it. The self hate rising once again.

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