Of Changes and Worries
My mother swears that my face has never changed, that my eyes are slanted and my mouth owns the same closed upside down curve, afraid to show the teeth I grew too conscious of. My smile is sad and my face looks as if it were staring light years ahead of today, worried for what became and what will become, for the what ifs and why didn't I's.
I am only 19, worried for tomorrow, excited for next week, anxious for next year, scared for the next decade where my fate lies unknown and I can't decide what I'll be doing then. I look past people's eyes, afraid to make eye contact because I feel like they will see the vulnerability of the 13 year old I was before, 170 pounds of pure fat and self hatred. I chew the insides of my cheeks until I taste rust, afraid of the things I say that make people leave. I fidget and move not only because it burns more calories, but because I have to be in constant motion so as not to feel the guilt of doing absolutely nothing. I feel comfort in other people's praises though never believing in any of them, in fear that they are just what they are, words that don't mean anything and will be forgotten right after it escapes the lips.
I am 13 again, refusing to make eye contact or say a word in fear of the glares that will come once I speak up. My toes curl at the thought of school, purposefully sleeping at 5 in the morning just so I have an excuse to stay within the four corners of my bed. I drag myself down the stairs to overeat and cry about who I have become, scared of the person who I will be, or who will stay within me. I pick at my food and show no guilt until the next hour as I try to let bruised knuckles meet my gag reflex until I taste bile and shame. I let eye bags cover radiance, self consciousness over life, fat feelings over happiness.
I realize that I am only a tinier version of who I was before, slowly trying to become smaller and smaller until I disappear from the judgment and stares.
I am 2 and lifting my leg up high as an attempt to copy B1 and B2, getting ready to run from something that's bound to catch me, my mouth slightly agape and the same upside down smile. Change is chasing me and I don't like it. Change is what will make me lose the fragile identity I've built, break my walls and leave me open and vulnerable to anything that comes my way. I will be forced to follow the winds without the shelter protecting me from what may happen. I'm not ready and I might not ever be.
And that is why I never changed face, never changed perspective, never changed anything but the body I carved and self confidence that grows lower.
My mother swears my face never changed, and I'm slowly beginning to think it's true. Do I like it, or do I want change? Two sides: Please help me don't help me I'm fine thank you leave me don't leave me I'm quite alright the way I am