Confessions of An Imperfect Woman
A yogurt: 90 calories. One tablespoon of strawberry jam: 30 calories. That’s what I ate more than twenty- four hours ago. It’s too much, I know. I shouldn’t have eaten all that, because all of the fat will go to my huge thighs. My elephant thighs will become even bigger. What a disaster! Could my life get even more complicated? It’s okay, I’ll fix the problem. I’ll stick my index finger and my middle finger in the back of my throat to vomit everything. I do it and it’s a relief. I feel light as a feather again. I leave the cabin toilet. I rinse my mouth with water. I take a look in the mirror. I like what I see in the mirror. A flat stomach, hollow cheeks, small arms and everyone can see my collarbones. No, I did not say anything, the new intern just watched me more than a second. This second means everything. She is looking at my ass. She is asking herself how I can live in such a huge body. She just saw my imperfection. What will my other employees think of me? They will laugh at me, that’s for sure. They see my big legs, my big arms, my big thighs, my big breasts and my big hippo bottom. They think I’m pathetic, it’s terrible. It doesn’t matter; I know that I am useless. I can’t even manage to control myself. I look one last time in the mirror and I pick up my stuff. I run my hand through my brown hair. A tuft of hair stays in my hand. This phenomenon happens to me frequently. I think I‘m going to have a serious conversation with my hairdresser. I throw them in the trash. I smile at the mirror; the mirror reflects my smile back. However, it’s just a mask. It hides my troubles and my desires. Everyone thinks I ‘m happy. They say I have a wonderful fiancé, a beautiful home and a wonderful career. Sure, I will not contradict that point. At twenty- eight years, I am the director of the publishing house White & Brown. I climbed up the ladder slowly and I must admit that it was really hard. I have not suffered all these years for a stupid intern to judge me by one look at me, even if it was for a second. She doesn’t have any respect for her superior. She doesn’t know that my material world is meaningless to me. When I die one day, all these things will stay behind me. They will continue to exist after death. People know nothing about me. They do not understand why I fight every day to lose all my weight. They do not know how many times a day I get sick or how many times I weigh myself in a day. They don’t understand my imperfection. I am size two, but it is far from being thin enough for me. I live for the whole purpose of being perfect.
My assistant walks into the bathroom. I must return to my stupid occupation for the rest of the afternoon. We exit the bathroom and start walking towards the meeting room, where I don’t want to go. She tells me that I have a business dinner. I start to panic in silence. Lord! How so? I wasn’t aware. Quick, I need to find an excuse not to go. She has just unknowingly ruined my whole afternoon. I do not want to go. I just want to go home and weigh myself countless times. Now I have to practice to appear happy and sociable. I have to pretend to be interested in the boring life of my associates and my superiors. They will talk for half an hour of their little treasures that made their first steps and said their first words. Then they will complain that their in-laws are spending a week or more at their homes. In other words, I don’t care. Who cares about all these stories that everybody loves to talk about? Not me! All I want is to be at home in my pajamas, sitting on my couch and watching TV. Zapping channels on TV, I’ll probably come across a show where all the girls are as thin as a broom. I will, therefore, feel more anxious, more pressure, more miserable and more imperfect. Okay, I would not watch TV. Ah, I just found my excuse not to go to that business dinner. I have to go see my best friend who is in the hospital. Ok, I shouldn’t say that, because it may come true. You must understand that any lie is good as long as it gives you a reason to avoid worthless dinner parties. I’ll tell my assistant to go in my place. She loves those kinds of events. Beautiful tight dress, high heels and sparkling jewels. Ah heaven! I can’t stand these parties. No, I really can’t stand them. My idea of going to see my best friend is excellent. I’ll call her to get a drink. We will talk and laugh. We will eat pasta, bread and pastries. What horror! I can’t do that. I’ll just watch her eat and I’ll drink tonnes of gallons of water. Maybe I will have a coffee, but I’ll have to ask the number of calories contained in each type of coffee to the server. Poor little guy! Well, I’ll tell my assistant to research for me. Cappuccino, Latte, Black coffee, French vanilla, mocha and the list goes on. I want a complete list of calories in each of these hot drinks. If I know this information, the evening will be great. Ah, that’s right, I forgot! My best friend hasn’t talked to me for over two years now. She says she refuses to talk to me until I admit my illness. My family thinks that too. My whole “entourage” is worried about my medical condition. Ridiculous, I ‘m not sick. I am in excellent health. I can take care of myself. Besides, my fiancé already has that role. We will be together for better or for worse. We will be together in wealth or poverty and in health or in sickness. But you know what? My fiancé and I are doing well. Oh, I just had another brilliant idea. I am going to prepare a romantic meal for him. It has been a long time since we did something sweet together. I have to go look in my cookbooks to find the perfect recipe. Yes, I’ll make him his favorite dish: a side of asparagus and curry. He loves it. This is the dish that I had him cook for our first date. That was six years ago. For dessert, I think I’ll make a salad of watermelon. What a treat! I can imagine the look on my baby’s face. Speaking of my baby, my assistant told me an hour ago that he just called from Russia. Ah, I forgot that he has gone on one of the many business trips he usually goes to. I do not understand why he travels constantly. Well, a romantic dinner will not be possible today then. I’ll change the date of my culinary projects for another night. My assistant keeps giving me my messages before I start the meeting. I ask her to bring three bottles of Evian to put on my desk during the meeting. I’ll probably finish them in less than twenty minutes.
I hear an audible noise. Damn it! This is my belly growling. No! I can’t give up now. No, I am doing so well. You’re the best. You are able to resist the temptation. If you don’t, you will become heavier on the scale. In addition, you’ll have to go to the gym for more than two hours after work. You know how much you hate that place. Everyone looks at you strangely and they come and ask you every twenty minutes if you’re okay. The pain in my stomach becomes unbearable. It is as if someone was ripping out my guts. I hold the belly with both hands. My assistant is concerned. She wants to know if I need something. No! Yes! Yes! No, I do not want anything. Absolutely nothing. I am able to deprive myself much longer than one day. Okay, I give up. The devil wins. Quick! Bring me some iced tea, a Caesar salad and a box of donuts. Quick, I have to write all the calories on a piece of paper. This type of bad behavior happens very rarely. I know how to control myself. I am someone who always has self-control. Well, I have to go train me after work. Also, I’ll go buy a big box of laxatives. I’ll spend my night in the toilet to evacuate it all. Ah! My alarm cell is ringing. I have to take my medication. I swallow my fluoxetine pills. Every night I also have to take sleeping pills. I do not know why my doctor prescribed it to me. He says it will help me find my happiness back. He says it’s not normal to want to kill myself. That ignorance is not bliss. But then I think, a fat girl like me doesn’t deserve to live. I take too much space on earth and I use too much oxygen. I should leave this earth so that new born babies can use my oxygen. Speaking of babies, my doctor said I could never have one. He says that a woman who doesn’t have her period for two years can’t give birth. How sad! I always wanted to be a mother. Giving life is a blessing that I wanted to achieve so much since I was a little girl. My doctor doesn’t know anything. He’s crazy; I do not need antidepressants and sleeping pills. I’m always happy. I am happy when I get to lose weight: 1 kg, 1.5 kg, 2 kg, 3 kg or 5 kg. Then I note my weight in my notebook. Week 328: 40 kg. Week 329: 36 kg. Week 330: 33kg. Week 331: 29kg. That’s awesome; I am getting closer and closer to my ultimate goal. My ultimate goal is to reach the ideal weight. The ideal weight for an imperfect woman like me is 0 kg.