Scale Worship

How can I justify

the space I occupy

in the world?

Carefully, deliberately

taking- gropping- for room

to squeeze in my confusion,

my burnt out intellect

onto the table

spilling out over the floor.

Imagined circumstances

have brought me here

a kite

of lies and stories,

demands woven into my skin

have pushed like gushing winds

to hang me in this place.

I sit, crowded and awkward

in my present space

looking around for directions

my body still shuffles and squirms

to find a comforting

and bearable position.

(©lisa arndt, february 24th 1994, 1:23 am, for Jennifer Shute's book "LifeSize")

________________________________

My name is Erin and I've sort of recovered from anorexia. I say sort of, because I'm getting worse. I'm letting the number on the scale control me again. The number ruins everything.

I broke my scale and threw it in the forest.

The scale is something I hate, but also something I need. It controls me. What I eat depends on it. It screams at me, "You need to lose more weight!" I obey this command. I am hungry- always, but at least I'm making the scale happy. The scale controls me. Today I am a different person then I was yesterday. My smile slowly fades and is being replaced by tears. The hurt inside me is immeasurable. Maybe when I lose five more pounds, and the scale is finally happy, I will be to.

I am beautiful. I am thin. I am happy. Then I step on the scale. This once happy girl has been transformed into an ugly monster of a person. Moments earlier I was laughing. Now the tears flood out like a stream. Why am I crying? Because the scale has punished me for eating. The scale screams at me that I'm no good. I'm a failure and need to be punished. I'm sick of being punished.

The scale will never be happy... and neither will I.