Big, Fat, Dirty Secret
I try to find a mirror.
by Dan Brown
I want to look at myself.
I need to feel disgusted and repulsed.
I need to remind myself what a fat, ugly, worthless
person I am, and that I don’t deserve happiness.
I can’t find one.
I threw them all out,
because I couldn’t bear to look at myself.
I couldn’t bear to keep feeling disgusted and repulsed.
My son has chocolate.
The only chocolate in the house.
I threw the rest out for my latest diet.
It was a birthday present, though.
What sort of parent would I be?
A fat, ugly, worthless one.
I take up some clean clothes as a cover
for being in his room.
He’s at school but that doesn’t ease my paranoia.
I see it, and the battle of wills disappears.
I need it.
It will comfort me like nothing and no-one else can.
It will make my problems go away.
I grab it and hurry to my room, tearing it open like an eager schoolchild.
As I bite into it, tears flow.
There is no soothing melting on my tongue.
Just, suddenly, a stark realization
of what I’ve done.