the one i didn't want to write.

yesterday, i did something i try never to do. i got on a scale. looking at the number in disbelief began a series of events that warrant some closer looks.

first, the panic set in. my stomach dropped to the floor. everything around me felt busy and out of place. i got light-headed, sat down and then began to have an anxiety attack. that's when i called my sister. she talked some sense into me. reminded me that weight can fluctuate up to five pounds. told me that doctor's-type scales usually weigh heavier. promised me i look the same as i always have. but then she said, "i know how you feel though. if i was on medication that was making me gain weight, i'd freak out, too." she gets me.

see, the weight gain, insignificant as it may be, made me feel inadequate. out of control. like a failure. stepping on that scale was like leaping back into my high school, eating disorder-ridden body. the body that lived with a mind that thought self-worth was based on numbers. like grades. weight. and gpa.

i began my battle with body image at 12. but since last summer, i'd really come a long way. like for once, i felt pretty. and for the first time ever -- desirable.

but here's the thing, i hear people all day long commenting on other people. "have you seen so and so, she's gotten huge." or "wow, so and so has really been packing it on." and "what happened to so and so? she blew up."

and while on the inside i'm like, geez, that person must be insecure if they have to constantly comment on somebody else's inadequacies, i still am thinking, "gosh, is that what people are saying about me behind my back?"

and anyway, yeah.