Big Fish, Small Pond (1)

Zan stood, silent, in the middle of her bedroom. She clenched her fists, slowly digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands. This weekly ritual paralysed her. She knew that taking one step forward would dictate the direction of her entire day. The taste of copper became palpable as she realised she’d chewed the inside of her lip raw again. She took a deep breath. “It’s just a scale, Zan, -” she murmured. She blew out a breath of air and untied her towel, shakily. She raised her eyes slowly and met with her reflection in the mirror. She recoiled, overcome by thoughts of how she should never have accepted a second helping of her mother’s Fufu. She imagined how the layers of fat on her body were jogs she didn’t take and one too many blocks of chocolate. She reached down and grabbed her mahogany belly. Her heart dropped and she could hear it thumping in her ear. She kicked her towel to the side, paying attention to the way her thighs jiggled as she moved, and inhaled deeply. This feeling was familiar.

*****

“Cringe! Look at her, -” A voice whispered from the opposite end of the locker room. “Maybe try a bigger swimming costume next time fatty,” the girl giggled.

Zan looked up, shyly from her corner of the locker room, trying not to make eye contact with the locker-room full of small-framed schoolgirls in the required school swimsuit. She pulled the towel out from her gym bag and wrapped it around her waist, feeling her thighs growing closer together. She hung her head, hugging her stomach tightly as she sat down, trying not to think of the pool of blue swimsuits turning to watch her reaction. Being ridiculed daily for standing out felt like the story of her life. She was a misfit here in this room of skinny schoolgirls, half of whom had nothing but an apple for lunch.

*****

Zan’s stomach knotted when she thought she had gained weight. Since that day in the locker room, she had made a religion out of doing sit-ups and throwing out half of her meals, yet still she felt… fat.

Body Dysmorphia. The words echoed in her head, thinking back to her consultation with the school’s counsellor. The woman in the glasses tapped her pen on her notebook. “Have you heard of it?” the counsellor asked, tilting her head.

“No, Mrs Crosley.”

“Body Dysmorphia. It’s a mental health condition in which someone spends a lot of time obsessing over flaws in their appearance which others usually can’t even notice. Hosanna, I think you might have it.”

Finally, Zan closed her eyes and stepped onto the bathroom scale. She watched the numbers fluctuate, taunting her as she stood, frozen. 61. “2 Kilograms?” She asked underneath her breath. “I lost 2 kilograms?” She stepped off the scale, letting some of her muscles relax. Her mind finally went silent. Losing weight was always a source of calm for Hosanna. Weighing herself felt almost as good as the first bite into a slice of double chocolate cake. For that moment, her head wasn’t flooded with thoughts of exercise routines and diets. She let out a sigh of relief and smiled. However, her bliss was short-lived as she looked over to see a blue bandage dress, laid out by her mother on her bed. Her heart sank. “Just one thing after the other,” she said, tearing up slightly. “It never ends.”