I hate the way you look at me, scrutinising every part of me. I hate the way you make me feel — inferior, unnecessary, unwanted. I hate waking up every morning, on the lookout for any new changes, another feature to loathe, to obsess over. To never be able to do what I want to do, held back by fear, fixated on one thought. My mind running over time, unable to grasp one coherent thought, except the comfort I find in putting my body through torture, convinced I was getting my life under control, a convenient coping mechanism, an escape from reality.

 

You’re beautiful. No. You’re the only one who’s ever been truthful to me. They tell me I’m pretty, that I’m curvy enough, I’m perfect the way I am. They don’t see what you show me, they miss the stretch marks, the reducing thigh gap, the fat on my stomach, the disappearing muscles. With every kg added, I feel the weight of failure, the weight of your eyes glaring at me, the weight of expectations.

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Your waist is so thin. How much more weight do you want to lose? Half the time, society loses itself in hypocrisy. Log ko kehene do, live life on your own terms, my mom tells me every morning before proceeding to rip apart my self-esteem — have you been eating more? Dikh raha hai. Turn away for a second to see the rest of my family calling me too thin, too imperfect, too malnourished. Kuch khaaya karo, we can’t even bear to look at you. Who am I supposed to please? Everywhere I look, someone has something to say. Your thighs are too fat, your arms are too thin. Eat more, eat less, you look anorexic. Men don’t want a girl who’s too ‘healthy’. Men don’t want to marry a skeleton.

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Despite living in a society dictated by the alleged wants of men, all criticism in my life has come from women. Ugh, who does she think she is, trying to show off her body in those tights? Fishing for compliments. Ew, loose clothes again? What is she trying to hide? Surrounded by articles undermining the slanderous nature of social media, the ‘high’ standards set add purpose to my life — they see Kendall Jenner walking the ramp. I’m fixated on her abs, the tiny waist. You show me every way I could never be her, and you push me to work harder every day.

 

Thin shaming doesn’t exist, you’re just looking for attention. So why is it that I’ve never felt thin a day in my life? If I wear something too revealing, I’m asking for it, I want people to tell me I look good, I’m just that attention seeking girl who finds validation in way men look at me. But this makes me want to hide, shelter myself. Because the one time I feel good about myself, I become an object of a man’s desire. Scrub his gaze off my body, hide it beneath layers of clothes, lose the weight that clings to my body fervently, discard the horrifying way he made me feel.

 

Can’t you see you’re perfect? You’re way too thin. You’ve lost your mind. The constant ensuing struggle, to ignore what they say. But how much can I block out when it comes from those closest to me, the people I call friends? A place of worry, they say, terrified for me. But what happened to celebrating my happiness? The heaviest criticism, the largest impact. In the end, all I have is you.

 

So dear mirror, I love the way you show me how I look, the ribs that stick out a little too much, a measure of just how much weight I can lose. I love the way you make me feel — incontrol, accepted, invisible. I love waking up every morning, on the lookout for any new changes, another feature I obsessed over until it disappeared. To never be able to do what I want, but liberated by the power I hold over my body, the control I exercise over my mind. A coping mechanism, an escape from reality.

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Written By: Anonymous

Edited By: Ishani Patil

Designed By: Khusshi Arora