Distortion

 Mirror, mirror on the wall who’s the fairest of them all.  Turning, twisting lines lead her into a magical mystery tour. Tortured by broken, exaggerated images with colors melting like Dali’s clock, clotting, congealing together. Rolling, the muffin middle sags over tree trunk legs. Disgust, detest, wrinkled nose. Thick limbs, round features, she is the Stay-puff marshmallow man. Just as white, just as bloated, barely contained in the frame. Clothes ripping at the seams stretch over hulking proportions. Words such as hideous, undesirable, unworthy engulf her once rational mind. A vision of ugliness dissolves her esteem. She cringes at the idea of even the slightest morsel of food. The reflection she sees never shows the living death, the attempt at the false ideal, the other shape in which she’s meant to be beautiful. Shuttering, suffering, she cannot see that she’s suffocating.  Her heart is fluttering like a mocking bird trying to keep her alive. She does not see her gaunt face with hollow cheekbones and dead, empty eyes where life used to flicker now lifeless, hopeless. Does not see her frail limbs, her graying skin, her jutting ribs.  

She must move never ceasing, never satisfied; it’s never enough.  The knowledge that she is different haunts her, but she hides this abuse on the inside. She does not share the extremes in emotion from manic to anxious to depressed. No one sees how tired she really is or knows the reason why. They think her studies keep her up at night, that she had too much caffeine. No one sees how often she is in the gym--- late nights, early morning. Exercise at least three times a day.  Manipulative, she makes sure that she’s never in one gym more than once a day; there are two on campus. She walks—saying that she enjoys it--- always taking the longest route, the roundabout way. Walking fast, powerfully, walking to burn the most, adding laps that make her late for class. In the café, she claims to have had a big breakfast or snack, an excuse to eat little. Others believe her, commend her for healthy eating. So happy, always trying to laugh or smile, pretending there is something beneath her blank stare. How you are not stressed amazes me. You sleep so little and take so many classes and extra-curriculars. She gets by just enough to appear normal, to appear to function. Forming sentences takes effort; everything takes effort. Finally, she cannot comprehend the simple things, the sentence she just read. Nothing sticks. Studying is almost impossible. She conceals a mangled, wasting body under layers of fabric. Outside, she is just lanky, limber, strong. Foolish. No one thinks twice. Ice cold beneath. No one bothers. Big black lines, black shadows circle the eye. 

 Moving more and more slowly, but never ceasing, never stopping. Not enough, not enough. Still she does not look good enough, thin enough. His acceptance is close; light shines at the end of the tunnel. She can see his outstretched, bony hand. She cannot see what happens when she gets there, the consequences of her actions, her impending death. She does not want to see it. She denies he exists, that he has taken control. She denies his abuse, his torture, his harassment, his disrespect. She deserves better, but she does not know it. 

 Tears flow down her friend’s faces, her family’s faces. She does not understand why. She does not see their pain, her pain or hear the rumbling of her empty stomach. Crumbling bones. She is not ready. She is not ready to say enough is enough. Her heart, her body, her mind are screaming in angry opposition. Her mind screams slander and suffering. Secreted in her mind are distorted images leading to destruction. Feelings are smothered by rigid either/ors: things are good or bad; healthy or unhealthy; black or white. No grey areas, no complexity, no emotions, no life.  Her heart screams for love, for joy, for passion. Her body screams for energy, for nutrition, for help.