The skeleton in the cupboard

I finally understand how body dysmorphia works. It has taken me months to see that I really do look like a skeleton – and not just because I avoid mirrors. The Slough is short on reflective surfaces, or at least on reflections, as there is so little light. But to look at my reflection and not see what it shows – that is a strange thing to realise.

Now I don’t want to go out. I want to hide in a cupboard. I don’t want to look like a refugee from a concentration camp. No wonder they gave me those striped pyjamas.

One Response to “The skeleton in the cupboard”

  1. I don’t want to go out for the opposite reason. When I’m in the Slough I eat too much – mostly chocolate for comfort. Now I look prgenant even though I’m too old to be. My clothes don’t fit and I feel ashamed. Yet when I’m bingeing, I kid myself that I’m in control.

    Maybe we should say to hell with those who look at us and go outside anyway? The sun shines on the fat and the thin and the perfectly-formed, goddam them.

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