Valeur personnelle

It’s been two hours that I have been subconsciously shaming my body. Telling myself that I am not perfect, not presentable, not the best that I can be, maybe? I have understood that “men” in our society aren’t allowed to be insecure about these things, or women for that matter. They are supposed to get up there, feel guilty and work on their imperfect selves. But I have looked at the accumulated fat on my thighs three times now.

It’s been two and a half hours. I have gone back to the profile of that social media influencer twice now. The one I unfollowed, because she did not stand up for all types of bodies that exist, the one that had posted “a cow is skinnier than that” on her high school best friend’s prom photo and created huge drama? Yes. That one. Her follower count has steadily increased since then, but not her tolerance towards people who do not fit into an XS size cocktail dress. I have admired her collar bone a couple of times.

It’s been three hours almost. I am googling ways to cut down on my calories, diets, workouts, what not! I have fallen down that spiral of vulnerability. Deeper and deeper, there is no escape. I had overcome my eating disorder, or had I? A shopkeeper’s face, the one who had smirked at the store when I had told him my waist size, flashed in my mind. I was almost helpless. My phone notified me I had a text.

“Hey, I loved that jumper you were wearing today, can I borrow it sometime? Also how are you so flawless like wow!”

I smiled. “Hey thanks! Sure thing, you can borrow it anytime!” I texted back.

As the neon light of my mobile screen shone on my face, I felt a little.

I had survived another day.

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