Locker Room Monologue

I looked down into the depths of the aquamarine abyss and knew that I would have to be emerged in the crystal-like nectar sooner or later. Bending over, I let my fingers graze the surface of the water. It felt like the fabric of a child’s favorite bedtime blanket; smooth, alluring and overall enchanting. With each passing of my hand through the water, it dawned on me how much I rather preferred the solitude of the locker room. As I stood up straight, I became fixated at my reflection in the hypnotizing current of the pool. I tugged at my ample shirt to make sure that no one could see the unoblivious muffin top that cascaded over my taut hawaiian printed swim trunks. When I measured myself from head-to-toe, the only result was that of me seeing myself as a rejected Mr.Potato Head. Taking in a deep breath of humid, chlorine-stenched air, I cautiously made my way over to the bench for roll call.

Roll call; otherwise known as the victimizing and yet painful judgment of a preadolescent’s swimsuit apparel. Hearing my heartbeat through my ears, it seemed to almost drown out the sound of the seventh grade swim instructor calling out my name. As I mumbled the routinely response, my ears were averted

to a more prominent commotion. Like that of a cliche, stereotypical 1980’s movie, I daintily moved my eyes over to the group of jocks pointing fingers at me. With hearing the drones of every one of my insecure flaws, my eyes had begun to sting with held-back tears. Trying to hide my biggest insecurity of all, I shielded my waist with both of my arms. “Hey there, fatty,” one said as they passed by me to jump into the pool.
Even though they had most likely forgotten these words, they continued to echo through my mind. Like a broken record player, those same words continued through the day and night. I then began to see myself in a more complex way. This consisted of always grabbing the skin around my waist and thighs as I looked in the mirror. I imagined it as a film of disgusting tar one would find on a badly paved road. How could I have missed this inferior flaw? With my time, I had spent most of it concentrating on all of my other flaws. When, in reality, this was the one that took the cake. Getting on the scale, I noticed how this tar had been accumulating throughout the years. One way or another, this burden was soon going to be shredded off.
Investing in a handful of athletic apparel clothes, I started my journey to success. Every morning, I would get up, put on these said clothes, and start my three mile run. No matter what the weather, one could see me out in the rain or sun jogging. However, I didn't notice that I started substituting this jog for a basic human need. This need would be that of food. Yes, I did drink water, but food was the main concern. Instead of eating a meal, I decided that a jog would be a better off choice. Whenever I thought of eating, those same sneakers would slip on and I would be off on another journey to success.
When the time of family gatherings came was when my weight battle hit me the hardest. Not only did I have to eat the food provided, but it had to be the entire plate. A scenario to tie in would be our families annual Fourth of July cookout. I remember getting myself a plate of food; a cheeseburger, some potato salad, and some mixed fruit. For the longest of time, my eyes were just transfixed on the plate-- not taking a bite, but just staring. I thought to myself, "I bet you'll eat the whole plate, fatty". Before I could react, I ate the whole plate in a matter of minutes. Instead of the food filling me up, there was a different feeling in my stomach. It was a feeling almost like guilt for giving into my screaming body yearning food. I knew that I had to get rid of this food somehow.
Nonchalantly passing by the family guests, I went into the bathroom. This feeling began to feel like a bubbling monster that needed to get its way out. Suddenly, my eyes shifted upon the sweet release. I walked over to the porcelain lid of the facilities and opened it Making sure that no one would hear me, I turned on the ceiling fan. Getting down on my knees, I put my face as close to the water as I could. I then proceeded to use my index finger and middle to shove down my throat. Resulting in a gag reflux, I could feel the monster being drained from me with every heave. After flushing and brushing my teeth, I knew I had found another new way to make my body beautiful.
I continued these traits for two months: substituting meals for exercise and learning that my only friend was a porcelain throne. As I looked in the mirror, I still didn't see myself as I wanted to. If there was just some way to lose a couple more pounds. I soon discovered this gorgeous little pill that people used to help them lose weight. The name of this pill would be Lipozene. Following the directions, I took one pull with a full glass of water. Then, I could continue with eating my small skosh of food. Soon, my bathroom scale would be saying that I was perfect.
About two weeks after all of these developed habits, my body began to panic. This consisted of not being able to move, sleeping all of the time, and not being able to even perform normal chores. For instance, my body was so weak that I couldn't carry my laundry basket downstairs. Having this happen, my mom had made the superior choice to rush me to the hospital. After getting checked in, I was escorted into a room to wait for a doctor. With these psychological problems, I quite frankly had no idea why I was there. In my mind, I was perfectly fine and this trip was just a waste of my day. It wasn't until my exam that the news had finally sunk through. Within two months, I had lost almost forty pounds as well as lost most of my muscle mass. Like a bullet going through my chest, the doctor told me my worst nightmare. Not only did I have anorexia nervosa, but I also had bulimia nervosa.
With my body physic levels at an all time low, I made the decision to seek help. At Deaconess Hospital, there was a program for patients who suffered from these disorders. The program consisted of being a patient of Deaconess for two whole weeks. In these two weeks there would be therapy sessions, treatments for eating properly, and other private procedures. When being in this ward, however, you could not have any communication with the outer world. A patient was not aloud to have a cell phone, laptop, or any other means of communication. If one had to use a phone, they would have to use the hospital one provided. This could only be used to call people on their emergency list which consisted of three people that the guardians approved of. Being isolated, I soon found myself reflecting on my physical and mental decisions.
Without communication, most of my time consisted of going through therapeutic procedures.

Every day would be full of therapy sessions, meal plans, and sitting in my hospital bed. Although, the time spent looking in my hospital mirror was the toughest. I no longer saw an overweight person. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a skeleton. The skeleton whose rib cage protruded like stiff tree limbs that connected to its lanky body. These limbs continuing up to a face whose eyes were sunken in and chalked with black circles. How could I have let myself do this? Why did I let those hurtful words turn me into this? As I looked at myself, in that mirror, something clicked inside of me. With whole heartedness, I knew that I had to change. Not only for others, but for my own well

being.
Pulling myself together, I started my newly planned journey to success. Going throughout my therapy sessions, I had an optimistic approach. This showed through in every aspect of my treatment. For example, when food was brought to me, I ate the whole meal. Even was I was gagging through bites, I knew I was doing the right thing. With this optimistic outlook, the two weeks of my treatment plan flew by.
Not only had I developed a new optimistic approach, but I also learned to love myself. Having gained back one-fourth of my weight, I felt no guilt. Instead, I was overall excited to fit back into my clothes. Continuing my recovery, I had begun to see myself finishing all of my meals. This dealt with not slipping a blue pill into my mouth or visiting the porcelain throne ever again. Instead, I would substitute it with catching up with a friend or finishing a homework assignment. Before I knew it, I was at the healthy weight for a male of my posture and size. This was the verification that, with the will to strive, I can overcome anything in life.
Looking into the mirror now, I see a changed person. No longer do I see a boy who hates his body, but a boy whose strongest ability is to stay strong. The disgusting film of tar attached to my body is now a friend who caresses me and keeps me grounded. Learning to love one's self can be a lifelong battle. From these demons, however, I have learned to do just that. I do admit, however, that I have stumbled within this five year battle of two eating disorders. Rarely, I do see myself looking at different parts of my body and wishing they were smaller. Then I realize where this same habit ended me up. I will no longer let a demon eat at my very flesh that I was born in. This demon will cease to invade my mind nor be a constant burden in my life. Instead, I will keep doing what my mind and body rightfully tells me. This is the right to stay strong.