I think I have reverse self-esteem issues.
In my mind, I'm prettier than I am in the mirror. Yeah, I have no delusions about my actual size - I'm fat and I get that. But in my mind, I'm a "pretty" fat girl. Long hair, fair skin, blue-green eyes. Pretty smile, soulful eyes.
Then I look in the mirror.
And somehow, even after all these years, it comes as a little bit of a shock.
I have fair skin, but it's not fair, porcelain skin. It's more like blotchy, pale skin with moles. Not like a grotesque amount of moles, but a few. My fair skin means that any blemish stands out like a a circus clown at a funeral.
I have long hair, but instead of honey gold, it's more dirty dish-water yellow.
My eyes - aren't bad. But they seem to get lost in the shape of my face. Which is round. Like...VERY round. Emphasized by the presence of an extra chin or two.
Sometimes, I look in the mirror, and am startled by the stranger staring back.
It's not that my appearance has changed over the years. It's the same face, the same shape, the same pale, blotchy skin. Except for a few coloring-experiments, my hair has always been this color.
Every time I look in the mirror, after a few minutes of trying to rectify my mental image with the image in the glass, my eyes slide down to size up the rest of this stranger looking back at me.
The news gets no better.
Fat arms. Like, upper arms that are larger (and flabbier) than most people's upper thighs.
Boobs that are two different sizes. And have never been described as perky. A bra is not just a fashion statement - it's a necessity to keep excessive amounts of sweat from forming below the "girls."
Hips that are wide. A belly button that gets lost in the extra fold of skin and fat.
Thighs that are dimpled. Thighs that really haven't spent all that much time apart. They're like Siamese twins (and that's not to be taken as an reflection on my sex life - or lack thereof - but more like a statement that I could power a small city from the friction of these Siamese twin thighs rubbing together when I do, well...anything).
Dimples are cute on the face - but a different story on the thighs.
And the ass. Oh, the ass...dimpled, pale white, GIANT. And, not at all perky. More like...end table. (I'm reminded here of Family Guy line here - "You like a little junk in the trunk? I'm a freakin' SUV").
Large calves. At least there is some muscle tone there, but it's getting buried under the fat. And in skirts, they look less like calves and more like tree trunks.
Cankles. Nice...cankles.
And feet that would make a circus clown jealous.
In the quest to match the "mental" me (mental in more ways than one) and the reflection in the mirror, there always seems to be this question....Am I am emotional eating? Do I eat to fill some void?
I don't know.
I can't deny that I love eating. Who wouldn't? I'm really good at it. Why wouldn't I enjoy doing something that I'm just this dang good at?
I know that there are times that I throw up my hands in the air and think, "If I'm destined to spend my life alone, I might as well enjoy Reese peanut butter cups after a gut-wrenching meal at Taco Bell."
So yes - there are times that I eat because despair can be overwhelming. And everyone knows that the best weapon against heartache is heartburn.
I study this stranger in the mirror and know that I could change it. A little hard work, a little discipline and a little bit of faith. And I could maybe become better acquainted with my reflection - or my reflection could become more of what I see in my mind.
