I managed to somehow overcome my fear and got my scales out yesterday they will now remain out. In their rightful place beneath the dreaded mirror. To allow myself to stare at the numbers in actuality.
So I am fat / overweight not obese but well on my way. Laugh if you will. However it is true.

Theodore is having his breakfast. I am drinking my tea.
I will now drink coffee
I will walk Theodore
I will be me and sit in my internal silence
And
I will clean
I will scrub, vacuum, polish, and wash
To clear any tarnish that may have stained the surroundings.

Its strange the habits one has and they way we each do our things. For me nothing can be less than perfect. I can not leave a few grains of coffee on the counter or a water stain on the tap or even a sliver of onion upon the floor. Everything must be spik and span as some refer to it.

When I was very young I remember waking in the night and making sure everything was perfect before I could finally close my eyes and retreat into the darkness that encompasses what we describe to each other as night.

I remember waiting till my door was closed, the light switch flicked, the night turned on in all its glory. Then I would slide out from beneath the bed clothes. I would find my school uniform, so carefully pressed and laid out on a chair just waiting for the human limbs that will one time fill its empty threads. My gentle fingers would run along the buttons, the pleats in the heavy grey skirt, the patterns in the criss crossed white knee socks. All these things in their childish perfection were a joy to me. So much that I would dress at that moment in my badly labeled underwear and vest. Pull with almost trepardation the perfect socks on and finally slip into the crisp shirt. The skirt remained in its righful place for fear that the pleats would be forever damaged.

And there I would lie. Counting away the minutes till I could wake and pull on the pleated skirt which had to be safety pinned on one side so that it would not slide from what could be described as decidedly boney hips. Then finally slipping on the orthopedic styled black school shoes.

I was in such a rush, a rush to learn to be in school and to be reading and exploring.

I was 6 or 7.

It was only later that school became hell. That childish naivety failed to mask the truth of others comments towards this strange girl.

This girl who rushed through her words, spilling into the next sentence. Who fidgeted while she stood from one foot to the next witha nervous energy. The girl who stood apart from her peers who was always different. The girl who became strange and left alone. The girl with no friends who had to create those to please her mother. Her mother who would ask constantly who her friends were. Why she didn't bring them home. What was wrong with her?

The mother would visit the school and present herself to the teachers wanting to see if the names her daughter presented as friends were indeed true or were they false.

They were false it was all false

She only lived in words
In books
In another world

And still she is gone and those who know doubt ever her return

For what is there to entice her back. She used all she has when she was young. Now there is no more left to spend in energy or time.
She lives in a beautiful world with her one friend.
They talk together. They comfort one another.
However one is stronger she soothes her and strokes her hair sending her to a peaceful sleep away from where she has to think.


So she is still a child and nothing touches the child.