Seven Deadly Sins saga #1
Reveling in saccharin and
salt-infested veins, I feel these chemicals embarking on a slow death
march beneath my skin. I feel the greasiness upon my palms, as I take
each overindulgent bite, telling myself that I’m not really doing any
harm and can change as soon as I am ready to. I feel the enlarged pores
upon my face each time I look in the mirror, attributing it to
everything but the food I have so willingly gorged myself upon. I feel
shamed by the way my clothing has
betrayed me, painfully reflecting my choices in the form of unsightly
bulges and too-tight waistbands.
But most of all, I feel disgust.
In my mind, I am that 12 year old girl once more, stuffing her face as a
consolation for the disarray of emotions that tormented her. Food
didn’t hurt my feelings and call me names. Food never taunted me on the
playground with chants of “fatty fatty two by four” or picked me last
for the team in gym class. Food never turned it’s back on me, shunning
me when the popular kids came around, looking for an easy target for
That 12 year old girl only grew older, still
using food as a crutch for the hurt and dejection she felt. The men who
used her for meaningless sex, the family and friends who didn’t
understand her struggles, and the passionate longing to be anything but
what she truly was.
But I was so much more than that.
I AM so much more than that.
I rose from the ashes of my former self. I, for the first time in my
life, had broken the chains that bound me, holding me desperately in the
throes of low self-esteem. I had been victorious, taking 64 pounds of
angst from my body and throwing it in the face of the demon that had
taunted me for so many years.
But yet, here we are once more.
He is wrapping his arms around me lovingly, and making me think that I
am not worthy of such success. Enveloping me in a depression, eating to
sate my troubled emotions, and find myself tired, lacking vigor, and
apathetic about all the things that used to mean so much to me. That the
thinning hair and hormonal changes are somehow punishments for such
hard and dedication, and only he knows the path back to true happiness.
That I am weak and can’t fight these struggles on my own. That I have
lost myself, a mere shadow of the person that I used to be, but he is
only here to help me.
That I will blame anything but him for the pain that I feel.
We are locked in a battle of wills, and I can’t seem to find my way to the light.
Lying in a torrential, unrelenting downpour of filth upon my body no match for the filth that I have heinously put within it.
My niece Amy and I share this battle. She loves to write. I know some of you will identify with this as well.