flesh prison

as the clock ticks and my return to school gets closer and closer, i’m having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that this body isn’t what it was three years ago. this body, with its curves and imperfections, its blemishes and scars, feels alien to me. i tried on my old school uniform the other day and i could barely fit into it. i was aghast.

woe is me, i suppose. it is tempting to revert to my old ways, to let the familiar hunger come in waves. a few years ago, i used to do anything to see the number on the scale drop. i would climb sixteen flights of stairs. i would jog in the shower. i would pretend to eat and spit out my food afterwards. there was once we did the dreaded 2.4km, and all i had for the entire day was a bottle of green tea and two rice crackers.

perhaps it is somewhat anti-feminist of me, but i still would do anything it takes to lose weight. i am stubborn like that, i’ll admit. i just want to feel better, you know. and to me, losing weight would make me feel better. as cliché as it is, it gives me an illusion of control over my otherwise unpredictable circumstances. seeing the number drop day by day makes me feel comforted and secure.

but of course, it comes with its drawbacks. the guilt i feel over every uncalculated bite is so intense that it is paralysing. the hatred i feel towards my body makes me keel over. i feel like i am trapped in an inescapable flesh prison, and there is nothing i can do.

i’m not sure why this matters so much to me. it feels superficial and shallow. but it does, and no matter how i try to deny that it doesn’t, it still does. i guess for now, i will simply acknowledge that.