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Battling the Monster in the Mirror
It’s exhausting. Will letting go be the end of me or the path to healing?
The monster in the mirror — that’s what I’ve named my eating disorder and the deeply-rooted abyss of self-beratement that drives it.
This particular monster feeds on uncertainty. It can decide to be benevolent or cruel on any given day. It thrives on the knowledge that I never know what to expect when I hesitantly peer, wincing slightly in anticipation and dread, through the looking glass.
Will I get the flat-out lie or the lofty illusion? Or, the truth that exists somewhere in between?
The monster can add a good twenty pounds to my reflection, or subtract the same amount. It can increase or decrease my perception of my age by decades.
It does these things through the sheer force of my imagination and the strength of my fickle mind.
Because of course, the monster in the mirror is me.
Some days I see what I suppose must be the truth of the matter, at least based on what other people tell me — a reasonably average, slightly attractive, not-actually-deformed 47-year-old. I smile at myself during those moments and breathe a sigh of relief.
