This is what some callous little scrote said to me last night. I'm very aware of my size, and really don't need it pointed out to me. I think it hit me harder as I don't often get vicious words flung at me. His opinion is worth nothing, but it started the little voice off in my head. The one of self doubt and hatred. I'd usually hide away, but I didn't. I went to the ladies and faced my nemesis, my reflection. I suffer body dysmorphia, I have for years. When I was 16 I was put on a very heavy steroid based drug and I ballooned, I mean seriously ballooned to 18st. Every ounce of self respect I had left me, and I gained this image. Tall and leggy, big breasted, and fat. Very fat. I tried to pretend I wasn't and tricked myself that black was the only colour to wear, but nothing that clung. Parties were a nightmare as I'd try and find a dress that looked nice and not like a mumu, or clung and showed the caterpillar affect that the mass weight gain caused. I refused to have long mirrors in the house, and photos are pretty scarce from those days. The thought of there being images of me for others to see petrified me. As time went on, I realised I wasn't seeing what others did. I shifted 3st over time, but my view of myself never changed. All I saw looking back at me was the obese teenager medicine had turn me into. I've battled with my weight since then, and even to this day, the fat, sad girl looks back at me, tears in her eyes that are blinked back before the smile is painted on. I can change my clothes numerous times before I leave the house, not matter what others say.
One day I am determined to look in the mirror, or catch my reflection in a window, and see what is there. Not my demons