The Poison known as Milk

The mindset of a person influenced by societies weight standard, including that of family and friends.

Like a balloon expanding in all direction with every breath the pressure within my head builds. The balloon pressing against my temples until the point where it is ready to explode. However, it does not explode. It remains bloated, stretching skin taught and causing a constant aching as the balloon squeaks against my skull. Days pass and as the balloon starts to deflate. Another breath comes each time, with a stronger gust than the previous.

 

“You’re looking slim today” my sister tells me with a look of approval. “Blacks a slimming colour” my mother scoffs. With that single comment the hours I have spent starving myself mean nothing and I pick up the broken pieces that were my achievement and I glue them back together with chocolate. Yet this thought stays with me and I start resenting food and everything it means. Every bite I take is an enemy invading my body trying to harm me. Even the milk in my tea becomes a poison which I eliminate slowly.

 

Yet I’d have you believe I love food. Maybe that’s my issue I love it so much I hate it. I love it so much I begin to resent it and the effects it has on my body. The fat girl inside of me still reaches for the chocolate, rams it in my mouth, yearns for the smooth silky texture and the addictive sugar. The thin girl on the outside spits it out, throws the remainder in the bin and goes to bed as to prevent temptation. Tiredness overcomes me by 3 o’clock anyway as my body no longer has the energy to carry on.

 

“You’re as pretty as your sister now you’ve lost weight” a friend smiles as they reveal to me my achievement. At first I feel so disgustingly proud of myself that I walk around smiling from ear to ear. Not because my looks have been affirmed to me but because someone has told me how slim I am. I am celebrated and admired for losing weight. Getting even slimmer than my already size 8 body. As I shrink in size the more praising comments I receive. Apparently my attraction increases as my weight depletes.

 

For a while this made me feel so f*****g good. I felt beautiful and skinny and everything I wanted to be. However, the pressure in my head never deflates now, the black sunken trenches under my eyes only get deeper and the tiredness overcomes me before I have even left my bed. Yet I have never had so much praise on appearance. I know these people aren’t trying to do harm, but they are.

 

I look in the mirror I see fat. Fat engulfs me, it drowns me. Folding over into rolls that wrap around my stomach, arms and thighs. That girl looks so slim in that picture, wait that girl is me. Yet I look down and I see my stomach pushing against my trousers and I think to myself “I need to cut out carbs this week.”