I see all these girls look at themselves happily in the mirror as they get dressed.
I am jealous of them.
I wish I could face myself like that. But the truth is, I hate the mirror.
I am afraid of what it may show me.
Will it show me an inflated doll? Or will it show me a crinkled old woman?
I felt like I am withering away, yet I couldn’t bring myself to eat.
I felt that each morsel I eat could add layers to my body.
I started to wear more and more loose clothes. I reduced to go out.
I locked myself in my room.
My parents were worried but had no idea what to do.
They thought it was just teenage hormones, that I was withdrawing after a bad break-up. If only they knew.
I started cutting myself. The pain would help me stop thinking about my body.
I hated my body!
If it was so horrible, what difference was a few cuts going to make.
One day my mother walked in when I was cutting, and the shock on her face was unimaginable. I could say that she was really scared.
A doctor came, and asked to hospitalize me.
They had to feed me because I was losing essential nutrients.
I was resisting because I didn’t want to put on weight. Then they sent a psychologist to me.
I was very skeptical at first, but as I spoke to her, I realized that she knew what I was going through.
We did a lot of art together, and she told me she had worked with other girls with similar issues, and they are not scared of the mirror anymore.
Little by little, I got comfortable with my body. Slowly, I started to go out sometimes.
I began my studies again. I didn’t hide in my room anymore.
Today it’s an entire two years since I was hospitalized. Today is Diwali. I am looking at myself in the mirror as I get ready. I don’t hate the mirror any more.