I look at the girl in front of me. She’s different now. Her beautiful and lively eyes before are now dull and dead. Her smiling lips before are now in a permanent frown. Her face is now puffy and unhealthy. I look at her arms. They are full of fats that when she moves them, they will bounce like little fluffy balls are inside them. Her body is so huge and packed of unhealthy and deadly fats. Her legs are now stuffed. Whenever she moves, she looks like a mascot or a walking giant stuffed toy. She’s not a happy one though.
Her eyes shout sadness. The way she looks will make someone squirm because her eyes are devoid of life and she can't do anything about it.
She is me. I am her. The fat girl in front of me is myself. I am standing facing a mirror and I don't like what I am seeing. “I need to change,” I keep on reminding myself. “I need to get better and change my life into ideal one,” I will say to myself every time I come across a mirror. I forge a smile and it turns into a creepy one. I hold up my arm and she does the same. I sigh. Nothing good will happen if I just keep on standing here. Of course, nothing will happen at all.
I change into my sportswear. I will go to the park and jog for three hours. I need to lose some weight. I can do it.
But I didn’t do it. I’m now in a coffee shop, sipping hot chocolate and eating two slices of cake. This is heaven. And I am dying.
You can’t beat depression in just one snap. I’m telling you, two snaps won’t kill it too. It is a long process and I keep on starting all over again and again. And again. And again. I’m getting tired but trying is kind of addicting so I keep on starting all over again and again and... Well, you know what I am trying to explain.
I’m not this huge before. In fact, I am a little fit and beautiful but life sucks so depression started eating me and I started eating a lot and binging a lot of food I don’t know I'm capable of eating in one sitting.
I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m drowning. I don’t want to eat anymore but I keep on doing it anyway. Somehow, it numbs me from the pain my heart is experiencing. It satisfies me.
Until one day, not just my friends or anyone around me notice that I am so fat but my parents and siblings too. It sucks big time. Instead of encouraging me to lose weight and get better, they will stress me and point out the fact that I’m obese and it's not good to look at. Damn. That hurts. I need to change my lifestyle for a better version of me.
But again, I didn’t. Because depression is too strong to defeat and I am tired of proving myself to anyone. Let them see an unhappy, obese girl that doesn’t do anything to get herself straight and change her whole being. I’m too tired. I’m too tired.
So I ended up in a mental hospital. It seems that thinking too much with depression roaming around together with eating too much is not a healthy lifestyle after all. I’m sick – physically, mentally and emotionally.
“What will you do when someone trudged in here and tried to kill me?” The doctor who looks like in his fifties asks. His eyes are friendly but have a glint of pity and I don’t want pity.
I smile sweetly and answer him in a knowing tone, “I let him kill you and look at how you will be killed.” He doesn't say anything but I know my answer bothers him so I continue, “I would love to see him cut your body and take out your heart with his bare hands. You are still alive when he clenches your heart and in one blink of your eyes, you are dead because he already tore it out of you.”
He purses his lips but doesn’t say anything. That is my cue to continue. “But the thing is you won't have eyes anymore. He will pluck them out before he cuts your body so doctor, you will be alive,” I grin at him like it is the best news ever. He doesn’t say anything but writes something on his pad. It doesn't bother me. I just don’t like the taste of the medicines.
