The invisible struggles

The Shadows of the Image

Alexander looked at himself in the mirror of his university room, examining his reflection with a mixture of dissatisfaction and despair. Every morning, he measured the thinness of his body, counting every visible rib, every hollow between his muscles. The image that the mirror sent back to him never corresponded to the one he wanted, the one he had seen so many times on the Internet and heard in the comments of his sisters.

As a child, Alexander had always had round shapes. He was not obese, but his constitution made him prone to teasing from his classmates. In elementary school, nicknames like "little baker" or "big teddy bear" were common, words that seemed innocent but left deep scars on his self-esteem. He remembered the days when he came home with a heavy heart and the nights spent silently crying in his bed.

His family, although loving, did not always understand the impact of these words. His sisters, in particular, often talked about the men they found handsome. Their discussions were full of references to celebrities and influencers with muscular and sculpted bodies. "Look at this actor," they said, "he's so handsome with his abs." These words resonated in the impressionable mind of Alexander, who began to believe that in order to be attractive and appreciated, he had to look like these idealized male figures.

In adolescence, Alexander decided to change. He set out to transform his body to conform to this image of male beauty. He started by playing sports, but what began as a healthy activity quickly turned into an unhealthy obsession. He set unrealistic goals and weighed himself several times a day, obsessing over every gram lost.

The tipping point occurred when he discovered draconian diets on the Internet, dangerous methods of weight loss that promised quick results. Alexander drastically reduced his calorie intake, avoiding the foods he once liked and replacing meals with protein shakes and raw vegetables. Every time he ate something that he considered an indulgence, he felt guilty and punished himself with extra hours of exercise.

His family was quick to notice his drastic change. His parents were worried, but Alexander reassured them by saying that he just wanted to be fit and healthy. His sisters, meanwhile, complimented him on his new figure, ignoring the sacrifices and suffering he endured to achieve it.

At university, Alexander continued on this destructive path. He avoided group meals, pretending to have appointments or studies, and spent hours at the gym. The social pressure to be perfect, to match this image imposed by the media and social networks, only worsened his condition.

One day, after a particularly intense training session, Alexander collapsed in the locker room, exhausted and desperate. His body, weakened by the lack of nutrients and overwork, could no longer withstand the stress he imposed on it. As he lay on the cold floor, tears of frustration and pain running down his cheeks, he realized how lost he had become in this quest for perfection.

This moment of vulnerability marked the beginning of an awakening for Alexander. He began to wonder why he was treating himself like this, why he was desperately trying to achieve an ideal that always seemed out of reach. He knew he needed help, that he needed to talk to someone about his internal struggles and fears.

But even with this realization, the path to recovery would be long and difficult. Alexander had to learn to love his body again, to accept that he didn't have to be perfect to be worthy of love and respect. He had to free himself from the shackles of anorexia and rediscover the joy of living without the incessant pressure to match an idealized image.

Sitting at his desk, with a math book open in front of him, Alexander lost himself in the pages filled with equations and theorems. For many, mathematics was an arid and intimidating discipline, but for him it was a refuge. The numbers and formulas represented pure logic, an order in the chaos of his life. They were a stable anchor as his mind struggled with the turbulence of his anorexia.

Since he had started university, Alexander had found solace in mathematics. Every problem solved was a victory; every solution found was tangible proof of his ability to understand and master something, even if his own body seemed to escape him. The precision and rigor of mathematics offered a reassuring structure, a kind of control that he desperately sought in other aspects of his life.

Apart from the hours spent at the gym or avoiding meals, Alexander devoted a large part of his free time to his studies. He had specialized in mathematics, fascinated by the beauty of numbers and abstract structures. Mathematics allowed him to focus on something concrete, to distract his mind from obsessive thoughts about his weight and appearance. However, even this love for mathematics could not completely erase the cruel remarks and unrealistic expectations of his family. Since he had lost weight drastically, his parents and sisters kept reminding him of their disappointment. They considered his emaciated appearance a sign of weakness, a betrayal of the manly and muscular image that they valued so much. "You are so thin, Alexander," his mother often said with concern disguised as reproach. "A man must be strong, muscular. It is the mark of manhood."

Her sisters, once so impressed by her determination to sculpt a perfect body, had changed their tone. "Weak men are not attractive," they said. "You have to gain weight again, get stronger." These comments, although they were often uttered with an intention of benevolence, pierced Alexander's heart like sharp blades. They reinforced his feeling that he was never up to the task, that he was constantly judged for his appearance. But mathematics offered a striking contrast. In this area, it was not his body that was evaluated, but his mind, his skills, his ability to think critically and creatively.

One day, after a particularly trying visit to his parents, Alexander found himself alone in his room, his mind tormented by their words. He felt lost, torn between the desire to meet their expectations and the need to find inner peace. In a moment of despair, he turned to his math books, looking for a distraction, an escape.

He opened a book on number theory and immersed himself in reading a chapter on zeta functions. The words and symbols danced before his eyes, offering a soothing serenity. As he progressed in the demonstrations and proofs, he felt a strange mental clarity, a feeling of mastery and understanding that contrasted with the emotional chaos he was experiencing. Solving a particularly complex problem, Alexander felt a surge of satisfaction and pride. It was a powerful reminder that he had value beyond his physical appearance, that his mind was capable of great things. This realization, although it did not immediately erase his struggles with anorexia, offered a ray of hope.

Over time, Alexander began to see mathematics not only as an escape route, but also as a form of therapy. Numbers and equations became allies in his fight against negative thoughts. He learned to value his academic achievements and to remember that strength lies not only in the muscles, but also in the resilience of the mind.

This inner transformation did not go unnoticed. At a family meeting, Alexander finally dared to speak openly about his passions and his achievements in mathematics. Her parents and sisters, accustomed to judging by appearances, were surprised by the passion and determination in her voice. They slowly began to understand that Alexander's strength was not measured in kilograms of muscle, but in the power of his mind and will. It was a turning point for Alexander. He realized that in order to fight his anorexia, he had to not only work on his body but also nourish his mind with positive thoughts and significant achievements. Mathematics had offered him a way to redefine himself, to find a new identity far from the superficial standards imposed by his family and society.