Sometimes, you’re just caught up in the way you’re greeted when you walk into the party. “Ooh, girl, you look so cute today!” ” That dress looks awesome on you!” Sometimes you’re caught up in cold drinks, flicking ashes off a Marlboro Ultra Light and cracking lewd jokes. Or maybe it’s the giggle that a friend’s baby makes when you’re playing with her.
You’ll forget. You’ll forget all about it and just live and laugh and enjoy.
Until you catch your reflection in Windex-polished mirrors. Until you hear the click of a camera and cringe; the fear of being caught for posterity will terrify you. Until you feel the twinge of jealousy towards your friends who can wear bikinis and wear them well. Or towards the girl who carries her weight just a tad bit better than you do.
So you’ll try to push it away. And you succeed, sort of. Until you are alone and you have time to dwell on it. And all the happy memories of the past 6 hours are obliterated.
You wish people wouldn’t tease. Building up false confidence. There’s no way you are what they say. You know the truth.
The itch returns. You remember it well. The pride you felt. The times you knew that others felt the jealousy you now feel. You remember how little it took for you to get by. You’ve lived on a bottle of Diet v8 before; you can do it again. 2 liter bottle after 2 liter bottle of Diet Pepsi. You could. You did. You CAN.
Or can you? (Oh God, do you wish that you could afford to go back to the shrink and get the medicinal buffet that made it easier. Kept you in control.)
This tortures you daily. Feeling frumpy and atrocious. You feel so guilty for letting yourself become this. But in the next breath you are lulled by the voices of people who tell you they love you just the way you are. And that should be enough. But it isn’t. It never will be, not until you fit into the clothes that now are crammed in 4 large garbage bags on the floor of your closet. (There’s a reason you dread the changing of the seasons; there’s a reason you rotate the same 5 outfits.)
But will you ever get there again? Will you ever motivate yourself to commit? You don’t know if you can. You’re life is so different, so much better, than it was before. And you fucking hate yourself for wanting more. For being so selfish. You want to look like you did back when life wasn’t so grand. Life wasn’t beautiful then, but you…kinda sorta were. The guilt and fear and anger and self-loathing and conflict pushes the nausea up your throat. And you, you sick girl, you are tempted to assist in the process.
Sometimes you forget. And it’s beautiful when you do. Sometimes you forget. But it’s never for long.