A number.

Three digits.

The scale beneath my feet voiced a number I did not want to believe. My eyes caught sight of my body in the mirror hanging above the sink, spotted with toothpaste and other grossly substances. The image was warped and deceiving, adding on the blurriness from not wearing glasses but the thought was solid in my mind as if it physically could weigh down my skull. I truly did not like what I saw.

I felt a tinge of dread and sudden self-consciousness as I looked at each individual body part in greater detail, and unfortunately greater comparison.

Feet.

Legs.

Hips.

Stomach.

Upper torso.

Arms.

Face.

It all looked unappealing. Staring at my body gave the craving for a list of changes. What could be changed and how. How quickly to be changed. I touched and grabbed areas, calculating how much loose fat were sitting on my muscles. My stomach felt tight but no where close to perfection.

Perfection.

“No matter what you change Aleks, you'll still be pathetic and ugly.”

“No one would love looking at you.”

“You're disgusting.”

My attention turned back to the metal plate bearing my weight. The number stayed the same. I hated it even more. It felt the number was taunting me, encouraging the internal battle more. I moved my feet off to the grey tiling, where they swept across a shag rug and into a separate room.

Hunger.

No food today.

“Might as well eat since you're already disgusting.”

“Can't change you.”

“Gross.”

My breathing sped up needing to catch a hand on a counter edge to steady myself. My knees trembled showing a sign of weakness to my mental companion. My brain pounded against my skull as my heart increased as well. The entirety of the room warped and spun out of place, but some only swayed in place. My body could no longer take the threat. The hand that was supporting me slipped, causing my to fall on the wooden floor.

“Here I thought you were strong.”

“You almost made me believe you ignore me.”

“I get under your skin.”

“Pathetic.”

I tapped my finger pads against a cabinet. Locked on laying on the floor as the room harshly threatened my mind with spinning imagery.

Hunger.

I forced myself to sit up slowly, attempting to regain motion of reality and push the intrusion back under the surface. My body felt cold. When I looked down I could see my stomach was bloated from the angle I sat, causing me to refocus on imperfections.

Instead I grabbed onto a nearby counter edge and pulled myself back up. My stomach pleaded to be filled but I had other plans. I poured a glass of water mixing it with a spoon of salt, chugging the mix down as fast as I physically could. An attempt to make myself feel full as I refused to eat any real food for the day.

My body wasn't perfect.