i stand naked before my full length mirror and try to detach myself from— myself. i am determined to assess my physical being and to be able to accomplish this goal i must transcend into another plane— detach my mind from my mind because my own criticisms could hurt my own feelings… harsh reality can be extremely traumatic. i take a deep breath and slowly open my eyes. only to find out that time has not been good to me. i stare at myself from head to shoulder to breasts to waist to legs to feet… i stifle a cry of horror! that can’t be me! the person in the mirror had pimples! fine lines of wrinkles had developed on her face! her boobs were saggy! her abs… where are her abs?!?! noooo!!!!!!!! i could feel tears forming at the corner of my eyes. i feel remorse. my soul feels sexy but my body is not.

i start to think of peforming liposuction on myself. i conjur up self-images of slicing up my own belly to cut, gather and throw away twenty-two years worth of fat. if only i could perform that. warning! self-surgery is not a safe practice!

i get so mad at my body fat that i get pumped up and inspire myself to go to the gym! my, my. i would tackle all those machines and thingamajigs with unparalleled vigor and enthusiasm. i curse all the lard and blubber in my body. i pack my sweats and ratty old shirts and stuffed it all into my dusty, almost brand-new semi-used gym bag.

i begin to feel a growing sense of panic as i look at my body in the mirror. don’t get me wrong. i weigh a 102 lbs. and i do want to gain weight. but so far the only part of my body that has accumulated substance is my stomach! it frustrates me! why can’t fats distribute themselves evenly?! i am the hapless victim of fat discrimination!

as i once agin stare at the unsightly flabs on my otherwise near-perfect body, i make a vow. i will say bye-bye to the beer belly. my eyes squint with heartfelt determination as i challenge the fats to go away. i give my non-existent abs one last venomous stare… i’ll torture you with crunches, bitch.

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