Mirror, Mirror

As I look in the mirror, what do I see? I do not see what you say you see. I see a description of ugly, a shade of distaste. Is this is truly me?

It has been a struggle for me to be happy since I was a teenager. Or more accurately, it has been a struggle to be happy since I was a teenager because of how I feel about my body. As a teenager, I had spotty skin, greasy hair and chubby thighs. I was not very different to most teenagers. Remembering my chubbiness, I hold that time like a delicate flower. It was a time of love when I was fed wholesome dinners and weekend treats of Mars bars and crisps, washed down with pop. Every Friday night, mam ironed the work week clothes and we watched Star Trek together, with our sugar feast, encountering the mysteries of Leutenant Uhura, whose intelligence and curvy beauty was admired.

Still, chubbiness for me became my secret hate as I watched girls at school go on dates with pretty, big 80s hair, pouting on slim legs and smiling happiness. I observed and believed for a long time that I could be happy if I was thin. All the girls in my magazines were happy. Smiling in her waif like thinness, no curves to be seen. That is the secret to happiness...so I thought...

I began my torturous path to happiness. Every night after school, importantly after tea, I rigorously exercised for an hour or more on a bike going nowhere as I watched thin people act and sing on my TV. Stepping off the bike, I stepped onto the scales each morning and night and after meals. I was frighteningly ignorant of the science behind metabolism and food or about ideal weight for my frame or even what weight I would have wanted to be. Instead, at every opportunity, I would look in the mirror and examine every part of my body. I was becoming obsessed without realising it. Food lay in my stomach like a prisoner shackled, held to a spot in time, heavy and guilty of some awful crime. Eating was my crime and the more I thought about my crime the more I ate. My favourite binge was a tub of ice cream when my strict regime became too much and I let go of inhibition and became a rebel to my cause. Or when guilt plagued me, I starved myself and suffered every rumble in my stomach as I lay trying to sleep. This only proved to me that I was going to lose weight and I was going to be happy. I was going to be free. So how much do you think I weighed back then, seven stones maybe? Never more that eight stones on my 5'3" frame. Waking up starving made me feel so good—elated. Happy.

Today at the age of 52, I am still afraid of getting fat. I have never been fat in my entire life. My younger self probably weighed about seven stones and six pounds before the dieting and exercising. At this moment, I do not know my true weight. I threw my scales out years ago trying to kick an obsession that could send me into misery for the rest of the day if the morning weigh in proved heavier than the day before. I did not realise the strength of my obsession until the impact of depression seeped into my brain.

Years have passed in a vice-like grip of control. Controlling what I eat, the amount of exercise I do and this belief system that has coloured all my life. I get up look in the mirror and examine my body, especially my stomach. I know every curve and angle that reflects back to me and I hate my body. I often think there is something faulty about my eyesight. My friends and my family scoff at my "watching my figure" comments when I am offered a cream cake. This often sends me into a depression, for then I feel like a freak, because obviously I do not see me as others see me. I can not relax when food comes into social gatherings. I can not enjoy food like "normal" people. But oh how I love food. I do not share this love though. It is a forbidden, hidden love. I can afford a smile when I say I am having a self destructive affair with food. For, with every wonderful, melt in the mouth chocolate bar, I am destroying my thin self. A beautiful moment that is always followed by the heaviness of guilt. So now I exercise. The bike has gone. I walk everywhere. I will only allow my self to use public transport if I have to go somewhere that is over two miles away.

I can say now I am getting fairly exhausted with my existence. I am not old but I am older and I have been punishing my body for too long.

I can not see a way of changing this self-absorption. I know because of the years of struggling, if I could, happiness might be mine. I believe everyone is more than their appearance. I have told various friends and acquaintances that this is the case.

I love all people, fat or thin, people are beautiful. I have a friend who has the most beautiful green eyes. It does not matter to me the size of her dress. I see beauty in people that manifests in kindness, compassion, laughter and wisdom.

I hope that I in turn am some of these things some of the time, for then I truly believe I can be beautiful too...and most importantly, happy.