O is for Obesity

"Have you eaten today?" No.

"Yes."

"What did you eat?" Nothing.

"A bowl of cereal." As if to check, the woman in the kitchen glanced over at the sink - sure enough, there was a bowl with soggy Frosted Flake or two forgotten in the remaining milk. She smiled at me and poured the milk out of the bowl, replacing it in the dishwasher.

"Well, your sister and I are going to go to the beach now, will you come later?" She looked up again, looking so hopeful but sounding so careful. Who could blame her? This was the first time in weeks that we'd had a conversation that lasted a few seconds without an argument. I sighed.

"Sure, I'll just change and . . . Grab lunch," I added, just for fun. The lines on mother's face seemed to soften and unfold as her eyes shone with delight.

"Oh, wonderful!" She clasped her hands together and flashed me another warm smile. "I'll see you later, dear." Her voice was so sickly sweet, it made me want to develop bulimia. Nonetheless, I hadn't seen my younger sister in a while. It was time to dig out a bikini.

I found the little number in the bottom drawer of my dresser, buried so far beneath a heap of old t-shirts that it seemed purposeful. I shimmied into the bottoms and tied the top around my neck and back.

This bathing suit was from two years ago, and it was too small. I must have grown out of it I fucking gained weight.

Bracing for the worst, I stepped in front of the mirror. Oh my God.

I stood stock still and watched in horror as my reverse-hourglass figure bulged in the two-piece, taking up the entire narrow mirror. The fabric on my bottoms hung limp around my waist, surrendering to being stretched beyond possibility. The skin above the string tied around my back hung over the string, which was nearly breaking under the pressure. There was no space between my upper thighs, which seemed to overlap.

I was the utter definition of "obese".

I turned away from the mirror in disgust, tears swimming in my eyes. I dropped to my padded-with-skin knees and retrieved the scale from under my bed, dragging it to halt before me. After tapping it, I stepped on and squeezed my fists together until my stubby, paint-chipped nails dug into the porcelain surface of my palms.

99 lbs.

With a choked gasp, tears poured over my eyelashes and streaked down my pudgy cheeks. I was undoubtedly delusional, I couldn't even read a damn scale! I kicked it back under my bed with all the force I could muster up and collapsed against the wall.

I was nothing - absolutely nothing. The girls around me were so effortlessly skinny, and I was just the ugly duckling amongst the graceful swans. Classic.

I hadn't eaten, but that never obscured my vision or any other sense, but there was no question about what was trapped in the mirror. There had to be a skinnier, prettier version of myself, just banging desperately on the unbreakable glass. I simply had to rescue her.

Because that big blob of tragedy? That was me, pointblank period. Those were my thunder thighs, my chub rub, my cherub cheeks, my baby-carrying-worthy stomach, my masked collarbones, my puffed-up wrists. I don't give a shit who said I was blinded by worry, we all saw the same thing. I could prove it.

I grabbed the tube of lipstick that sat on the dresser and uncapped it. I wrapped two fingers around the bottom and twisted hastily, urging the red stick to pop out. Once I rolled the lipstick up all the way, I put it to my stomach and drew a short, bold line. I wrote backwards and turned toward the mirror when I was done. For a brief second, a triumphant smile draped itself upon my lips - but it was gone just as quick as it came, for the sliver of hope that I'd clung so tightly to was disregarded.

I read the letters that marked my stomach's flaw perfectly fine in the mirror.