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

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