"The only person I judge, is the one in the mirror."
NF.
Darkness creeps over the room, my desk, bed, other furniture and everything in it engulfed by the mass silhouette. Quietly, the clock ticks, as if it too were waiting to be freed from this nightmare. My head lays against the soft pillow, my body squashing the mattress. I turn my alarm clock off; the voices have already woken me up.
"Lose weight, will you?"
"Is that really how much you're gonna eat?"
"I don't want a pig for a grandchild!"
"She's a bit big now but I promise she'll loose weight soon, won't you Valentina?"
"I can't confirm to your standards," I think. "I just can't, it's all too much. Do you want me to be skinny? Is that it? Do you want me to stop eating all together? It seems that every time I even set foot into a room you all are judging me."
"It's so unnatural to gain that much fat."
"Think of how attractive you'll be. You want people to like you, right?"
"Come on, you know you want to try it."
The silence becomes too loud in the hollow room, the pearl-white moon glistening, reflecting its light on my window. Rustling occurs and the feeling of uneasiness rises from deep within me, rain pattering. Outside, vehicles promptly drive by on the uneven, charcoal-grey road, the hum of engines amplifying. Drunk men walk the streets in large congregations and some even travel alone. The slur of their words travelling towards me, their care-free faces of temporary joy masking the pain.
It's strange what you can observe through a window.
Hastily, I panic, wanting to block all the sounds out. Yet, they keep coming, each word louder than the last, each comment of disappointment clearer and clearer, until my mind is overflowing with memories of their injustice.
"Take a look, it's Little Miss Fatty."
"Now tell us Fatty, how did you get so big?"
"Is your weight the reason your father left you and your mum?"
All these things have been said to me. All these cruel remarks. And every time I brushed them aside, ignoring them, trying to get through the day without being a burden. Though for some reason, something about me (besides my evident predicament) is easy to make fun of. Something about me seems to urge people to torment me. I am alone, I get it. I don't need you reminding me every second of my damn life, finding entertainment in my insecurities.
Street lamps blare and I hear what appears to be the washing machine. The slam of feet hitting the floor causes me to go insane whilst I tap my nails on the side of my bed, ready to cry out for help. I can't move. I can't speak.
Just then, I seem to vanish back into the real world. I move my head, arms, legs and shoulders. It happened again. My sleep paralysis. And this time, they were closer. Much closer.
By they, I mean my classmates. It's hard to name one bully when it's everyone whose impacted the hurt you've felt for the past sixteen years. Not even one person stands out, they all equally mistreat me. From my mother, to my grandparents, to the teachers who neglect me in lessons. All despise me, just because of what I look like.
I wonder, if I were slimmer, would I have the perfect life? Would I be a lot more likeable? Would I be accepted? My whole life, its been: "You should exercise more" or "You can't blame your condition on everything you know, change starts with you." Yes, I know change starts with me but if I went to every doctor I can, attempting to do all these things and they haven't worked, then eventually I'm going to stop looking for an alternative. I'm actually trying to do this. I'm not being one of those characters in the books or films that just moan and sit there, I'm taking medication to maintain an average period and I'm at least trying to work out at least three times a week.
If this were a movie, I would've found the love of my life right now.
But life isn't the movies and once you accept it, the realisation aches less.