Skin Deep

I frequently ponder whether the line between unwavering persistence and unhealthy obsession is finer than we deem it.

Squinting at my reflection, I conclude that my face today is puffier than it was yesterday. You had too much water last night, I scold sternly. You won’t get anywhere if you keep cheating on your diet. I’ve been trying to get in shape for so long, and no, round doesn’t count as a shape.

In this moment, I feel pathetic, desperately trying to bring out my non-existent cheekbones with final touches of makeup before school starts. Everybody already shuns me. I’m the classic example of a small, stout, introverted nobody who belongs in a corner of the classroom. I shouldn’t give my peers any more reason to hate me by gracing them with my less-than-desirable looks. It also doesn’t help that the mirrors in the girls’ bathroom are consistently dirty, smudged with God-knows-what other girls put on their faces. Streaks of eyeliner, flecks of foundation, prints of lipstick. I try to see beyond the stains to look at myself properly because I need to know whether I look decent enough for class, and for the world. The more I look at my reflection, the more I feel the accusatory mirror stains conspiring against me. All they want is to not-so-secretly make my pursuit of happiness as difficult as possible.

The tip of my powder brush skates across my neck, in the hope that the dust will hide the creases below my chin. Since I’m not particularly well-defined, I should at least be making an effort to appear as such. I can’t remember when I started caring this much about my body, looking to face-painting and dieting and exercising for solace.

Don’t plan on giving up any time soon. You need to do this for yourself.

Putting my foundation away, I give the girl in the mirror a once-over and can’t help but glare at her round face. It’s definitely me. I wish it were someone else. It’s disappointing how everyday, after twenty-four hours of working hard to shed those pounds, I’m still the same pudgy misfit I was the day before.

Marie looks over at me from the neighboring sink. She brings a slender finger to playfully poke at the chub of my right cheek, something I would only let my best friend do. “It’s alright, C,” she says. She has always been good at reading my mind, especially when I’m moping about my looks. “Try again today. You can do it. It’s about taking baby steps. It’s all about the endgame.”

“Thanks.” I say it quietly but I mean it. I need someone who has faith in me, who can see the good in me, who will still be my friend despite the fact that she’s everything I’m not – skinny, tall, beautiful. Marie never has to deal with the fat that bulges out over her stockings just above her knees, or the stretch marks that lie between her thighs, or the jawline that hides behind baby fat which never went away. And yet she is such a loyal companion. She’s my closest confidante, my personal cheerleader, the sister I never had. She is the epitome of loveliness.

I smooth my dress down. It's a dark navy, of course, since that's a generally flattering color on even the dumpiest-looking of people. The fleeting feeling of my muffin top over the elastic of my underwear is something I struggle to get past, but I swallow my pride as best as I can.

“Another day, Marie,” I say through gritted teeth. “Here we go.”

“Excuse me?” A girl I haven’t seen around before glances at me through the mirror as she washes her hands in the adjacent sink. I must have missed her coming into the bathroom. “Did you say something?”

I shake my head. I hope she doesn’t think I’m crazy, because I’m not. “Sorry. Talking to myself.”

-

I hate having so many eyes on me as I sprint around the school track, heart feeling like it might burst out of my chest any moment now. But I know I’ll be fine. If my body couldn’t take it, Marie would have stopped me already.

It pains me to imagine what the other students must be saying about me from the bleachers. The entire situation is comparable to one of those circus shows – voyeurs taking pleasure in watching various animals and oddities foolishly fumble around. Here, I’m both the animal and the oddity. The others must be laughing at me, jeering at the poor kid who keeps struggling to get fit. I could’ve sworn that I felt my ribs through my skin last week, a fine indication of progress. Despite that, whatever I’ve done up until this point still hasn’t been enough.

Perspiration drips down the side of my neck, leaving my clammy skin tingling in its wake, and the rush of adrenaline is more than welcomed. Running so fast like this, I almost feel... weightless. It’s a wonderful feeling, one that I want to memorize forever. The greatest challenge at this point is to ignore how the cotton of my shirt sticks to the small of my sweaty back. That itself is the worst possible reminder of the hours I’ve spent working out in vain, attempting to slim down. The flab just doesn’t disintegrate. It stubbornly refuses to go away.

I hate this. I hate it. Every inch of my godforsaken body.

Finally, I slow to a stop. Wiping the wetness off my forehead with the back of my hand, my eyes search for Marie. Instead, I feel her behind me, a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“Good job,” she comments encouragingly. “Not the best, but all things considered, you ran longer than you did the last time.”

I move to turn around so that I can face her, but instead I’m met with the face of a young man. He’s an upperclassman and I’ve seen him on the field before. He must be involved in a sports team of some sort. My legs tremble as he flashes a charming smile down at me.

“Wow, you’re fast. Have you thought of joining the track team?” he asks. I search for a hint of insincerity in his voice, but I can’t find it yet.

“No way.” I’m flattered by his polite attempt at making conversation. And with me, prime oddball of the season, out of all people.

His boyish grin doesn’t fade, it only widens. “Maybe you should. We could really use a runner like you for the girls’ division.”

I try not to think of how awkward if feels to meet his eyes. “It’s not really my thing,” I mumble. I’m not running because I enjoy it. I’m running because I need to detoxify myself, purify myself, make myself a better person. That’s the endgame that Marie always reminds me of.

He chuckles. “Suit yourself. Let me know if you change your mind. You won’t have to run alone if you join the team.”

I’m not alone, my friend is here, I want to say, thinking for a second to introduce Marie. Instead, I merely offer a sheepish smile. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

He tells me his name, and it’s only polite that I tell him mine in response. We exchange a few more sentences, but I forget his words the moment he walks back to the bleachers where he came from. His friends are shouting silly things and whooping and clapping. They must have arm-twisted him into talking to me. How could it possibly have been a genuine conversation? I resort to running back to the locker room, as if it’s my safe haven. It’s really not.

Nowhere is.

I grab my backpack, heavy with the weight of books and of the notion that I’m so far from perfection. My stomach growls too loudly. I tried to ignore the hunger as it built up but I can’t anymore, not when my knees are weak and my cheeks are hot and my entire body is drained.

“I think I need something to eat,” I confess with guilt. My stomach makes another rude noise. I clutch at it shamefully, but perhaps only half-shamefully. A part of me is proud that I managed to get this far into the day without eating a single crumb.

Marie raises a well-plucked eyebrow at me. I nearly forgot how she had come into the locker room too. I peep at her out of the corner of my eye, and it is clear that she is far from impressed. “Really, C? Are you sure?”

I nod. “Just a bite. A small one.”

“If you say so...” She shrugs, her voice trailing off, and I know she is biting her tongue.

A little spot of food will suffice. Maybe a plate of fries. Or two. Or three. Perhaps a full pizza to boot? Oh, and a bottle of soda too, straight from the vending machine. Don’t forget the tub of chocolate ice cream waiting in the freezer. My tongue tingles in excitement as I start to salivate, anticipating the taste of the delectable rubbish I’ve come to know and love.

I need satiation.

-

It is ten in the evening now. Someone once warned me of how inner demons loved lurking in the darkness of night, but I disagree. I think they’re everywhere, all the time. They are certainly in the bones of my wrists as I reach for anything I can get my hands on in the refrigerator, hoping my parents will just think I'm up for a mere tiny snack.

Tiny. Ha!

Once I’ve worked my way through the night’s leftovers, fitting as much junk food into my mouth as humanly possible, I move on to dessert, recalling the chocolate ice cream I had dreamt of earlier. It’s not enough, as a part of me had expected, and I figure that it’s the perfect opportunity to guzzle the unopened course of frozen custard that we had originally been saving for a special occasion.

Marie had leant against the cold marble of the kitchen counter, patiently watching me eat my fill, a terse frown playing on her lips. She finally breaks her silence just as I am about to finish eating the equivalent of a meal big enough for a family of three.

“Are you done?”

My arm freezes just as I lift the cream-filled spoon to my lips. Just one minute before, I had felt incredibly full. Perhaps even happy, one could argue, for a brief moment in time, now lost.

I feel sick.

I'm not sick enough to puke – no, I’m absolutely not that kind of sick – but I can feel myself getting dizzier by the second. I just catch myself from dropping my spoon on the floor, too afraid of letting the metal clang against the floor. I couldn’t possibly wake the house and have someone catch me red-handed, although nothing is wrong, I swear.

The bathroom is around the corner, and I make a run for it, finally using my track skills that the boy from earlier on had praised me for. Once I cross the finish line, I shut the door quickly behind me. This feels like I’m trying to escape from some kind of monster in a child’s bad dream.

“No...” I pant lightly, shaking my head in denial. I’ve screwed up. Again.

I rest my hands on the counter of the sink, gaze slowly drifting towards the mirror in front of me. In the reflection, I notice how Marie stands behind, casually leaning against the closed door with a twinkle in her eye. She looks proud of me for having internally admitted my wrongdoings, having vowed to do another round of penance again tomorrow. More makeup, more exercising, more smiles all around.

It is the norm for her to always follow me to the bathroom, providing moral support as I step onto a weighing scale that I keep tucked under the sink for good measure. I’m not afraid of it. I just don’t like looking at it sometimes. Other times, like now, I can’t live without out.

Fingers crossed, my heartbeat picks up as I watch the numbers of the digital display materialize. Ninety-five, it reads. I can feel the tears coming.

That’s the same as yesterday. No better.

I gaze at the numbers down by my feet and pray to God that they will get even smaller tomorrow. And even if God doesn’t hear my pleas, I know I’ll make it happen by the strength of my will.

“You know that you’ve done wrong,” says Marie from behind me, her voice solemn, much like it is every night that I mess up. I keep bringing things back to square one, and all the effort goes down the drain. My tears follow suit, though against the porcelain of the sink, they almost appear invisible.

“I'm sorry.” My words sound unbelievably loud, reverberating in the emptiness of the room. Marie hums in acknowledgement and moves closer, so that I can lace my fingers with her lovely elegant ones. Her hand is cold but holding it makes me feel so warm on the inside. “I'm sorry,” I repeat, not expecting her to answer. She doesn’t have to speak for me to feel her presence. Sometimes, I don't even necessarily feel her presence, but I know she is very much there.

This hurts, being stuck in this limbo. But I am fine, I swear. I know I am fine, or at least I will be. Marie is such a good friend that she never lets me lose track of myself, never lets me slack off on this weight loss regiment. She reminds me to begin with the end in mind – pain now, prettiness later. I’m going to be perfect, and Marie will help me.

Someday, I will finally be beautiful. I can see it in the future. Marie will be there by my side, embracing me with arms that easily encircle my thin waist. Her grip won’t be suffocating, but it will be strong enough to remind me of my place and that I owe my soul to her. She’s a part of me, embedded in my skin– No, she runs deeper than my skin. Without her, how could I possibly strip the ugliness away? I need her.

I’m not obsessed, I swear.

I’m just persistent.