I look at myself in the mirror. I see my face upon the shattered glass that lay beneath my feet. I’m ugly, lonely, tired, and weak. I’m weakened by the sorrow memory, the loneliness I endure, the pain I suffer. My tummy cringes in disgust. I am ugly. My imperfection reflects on my imperfect personality. I’m not beautiful, instead I am a beast. I’m not harmful nor am I fearful…. I guess you could call me peculiar.
I feel as though people look at me differently. I use to be fat; kids would tease me, and make small comments quietly to themselves. I knew deep in my soul I had to change for the better. I exercised try to eat healthy, but it just never seemed to work. My life seemed to be going hay wired, I felt depressed and lonely. No one wanted to talk to me, except for a couple of my overweight friends who had the same problem as I. We all knew what it is like to be an outcast in a school that was based on looks and appearance. We all knew what it felt like to be rubbed off the shoulder like a piece of lint.
And I would dearly dream of me becoming skinny, and having a regular life. I dreamt of wearing a two-piece bathing suit, and wearing the nicest designer clothing. I dreamt of guys flirting with me, inviting me to a parties. I also dreamt of girls being envious of me, as I am to them. But I only came close to that by just looking at magazines that are filled with skinny twig models in a Victoria Secret catalog.
I was disgusted at myself for letting my body go, for overeating and substituting food as a tool to comfort myself when I felt lonely. And whenever I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw an ugly pig wearing sweats and having two chins. I was hideous, and unattractive.
During the summer, I would try to exercise and eat right, but nothing seemed to work. Then I confided in the only tool that would make me the skinny girl I yearned to be, which was throwing up and refusing to eat. My parents thought I was eating since they were never home, I didn’t eat and if I ate, I would just go to the bathroom and throw up. I was addicted to it, and knew this wasn’t healthy but I couldn’t stop. The only reason why I continued was because of the fast results. I now looked at myself in the mirror, and was satisfied with myself.
After summer, school started and I arrived in a new body and a new attitude. I fit in the crowd, and received so much attention from my teachers and fellow peers. I loved it, I love the new Lain. The pretty Lain, the skinny Lain. Soon I didn’t know that this new Lain would destroy me, and the people who I loved.
I became addicted, and I became anorexic. The attention I was receiving was the ugly and boney Lain. People didn’t want to talk to me because all I had was bones to show. The clothes I put on were too big, even though they were just a size one. And during those mourning full days, I would look at myself in the mirror.
I looked at my long and sorrow face, it couldn’t handle my skinless body, there were only bones exposed. If only I knew that this path I have chosen for myself would kill my mother’s spirit day by day, and my father’s pride over me, and destroyed my relationships with my siblings and friends I wouldn’t have killed the fun Lain. I wouldn’t have nearly killed myself just to look like something I knew I am not.
Now I spend my lonely days at a clinic trying to get help. I refuse because the only thing that I want now is to die in shame and repulsion. I don’t deserve to live the way I do, but I know I have to pay the consequences for the actions I undertake. I live with the memory of overweight Lain, and live with the memory of skinny Lain. Now I must bear the reality of anorexic Lain. And every time my mother comes to visit, she sits there looking at me like a stranger. Deep inside I know my mother is ashamed and embarrassed looking at me, and being me being her daughter. I don’t blame her for despising the person I was or still “am.” I know there isn’t anything I could change in the past, but I know there was hope and change in the future. Now my goal is to be healthy Lain.