Mirror, Mirror

STELLA

In the sanctuary of my bedroom I stare up at the ceiling from my soft pillow. The smell of beef casserole wafts through my doorway and I jump up, marching over to slam the door. I don’t know why she cooks things like that? Things she knows I love to eat. Did she want me to put on even more weight? I slump to my floor leaning against my bed, holding my singlet over my nose until I feel it is safe to let it fall away. The meaty smell is still lingering in my nostrils, and my stomach growls. I wish it wouldn’t do that. Wish it wouldn’t make out it is hungry when it isn’t.

I wish I could take my mum to school with me for just one day. Let her see the way other people look at me. The way they whisper to each other when I walk past. That is if I am lucky. Others feel the need to yell out at me. Shouting about how disgusting I look, how strange I am. Do they not realize there is nothing they can say I haven’t already told myself? They don’t need to point out the flaws in my body I already see. My chunky thighs, my stomach that sticks out in everything I wear. The list is endless, and I can’t blame them for not wanting to be my friend, but wish they weren’t so cruel about it. No matter how hard I tried to ignore them, I couldn’t.

My thoughts find their way back to food as they always do. Just the idea of eating mums casserole sends my stomach into a frenzy. Twisting and churning, making me feel ill. I can already feel the extra kilos climbing under my skin. I wipe at my arms and wriggle them away. I would have to tell her I am sick again. Tell her I can’t stomach anything today. My belly growls once again. ARGH! I drop to the floor leaning up against my beds frame. She will make me eat. I know she will. Despite how many times I tell her I am overweight, she assures me I am beautiful and need to eat. But I own a mirror, although I avoid it at all costs. And every time I grow the courage to glimpse at myself, all of those flaws stare straight back at me. Whoever invented mirrors was cruel!

“Dinners ready!” Mum’s voice sings from the kitchen.

I rise from the floor and open the door, holding my breath as best I can while calling back. “I’m not feeling well. I think I will just rest.”

I quickly close the door again, annoyed the smell has invaded my room once more, and that my stomach is twisting itself in knots. Laying back on my bed I hear footsteps approaching. The door swings open, the smell wafting in even stronger, forcing me to pull my singlet up over my nose once again.

“Honey you need to eat. Especially if you are sick. Just try a little bit please.” I can’t look her in the eyes. The way they plead, pulls at my heartstrings.

“I said I’m not hungry,” frustration pouring into my words.

“You need to eat sweetie.”

“No! Just leave me alone!” I roll over towards my wall, angry she can’t just listen to what I want.

She sits down next to me, stroking my hair. “I have only given you a little bit I promise. Just come and try it. That’s all I am asking.”

I roll over, and she kisses me on the forehead. Admitting defeat I climb out of bed, and mum grabs me by the shoulders guiding me towards my greatest enemy. The mirror.

 

STELLAS MUM

I can feel her resistance as I guide her towards her tall mirror. I know she hates what she sees, but each time I do this I pray that she will finally see what I see. A beautiful young lady who needs help. Who needs to learn to see herself the way everyone else sees her. Her yellow tinged skin hugs at her bones, her face gaunt and drawn in around the cheek bones, her eyes dark and hollow. Tear form in my eyes. I know if she sees me upset it will only anger her. She is angry a lot these days. And I’m growing desperate to get through to her, to help her. But she won’t let me in.

“Honey, you are wasting away. You need to eat to be healthy again. Just a little bit I promise.”

I know she can see it. See herself slowly dying in front of her family. And I can’t understand why she doesn’t care. Why she won’t just talk to me.

STELLA

I see mum eyes water up in the reflection of the mirror, and look at myself to avoid watching them escape over her cheeks. I’m not sure why, but her over emotional state angers me. Why is she crying? She isn’t the one everybody stares and laughs at. I know she is scared, worried her little girl is killing herself. And I wish I could do what she wants. I wish I could just be like a normal sixteen year old and sit with her family for dinner. Sit with friends at lunch enjoying a sandwich. Bile rises in my throat at the thought. But no matter how hard I try I can’t be normal. Every time I look at myself I can still see the imperfections. Still see the roundness in my thighs, the way my stomach balloons out when I turn to the side. Is it really so bad to want to be beautiful? To be like the other girls at school. Just a little bit more weight to lose and those areas will thin out, flatten. Then I would be happy with how I look.

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