what i am now

if you saw me the way i see myself maybe you'd get it. "count your calories, read the nutrition panels, diet, exercise," i know. believe me, i know. "it's for your health," turns into a chase after my... after your ideal weight for me. but you say it's mine. I'm afraid of dying because i worry they won't even be able to lift my casket. body positivity until you no longer fit into any of the boxes you were destined for, not to mention the clothes. foraging for a size at the end of the clothes rack because nothing near me will fit. unable to read my poetry out loud, because i can't speak without obnoxiously frequent breaths. I don't care anymore. i tried i really did. but when a bite of rigatoni turns into a fear of the scale, i give up. looks when i order my food, if not at me, then at the portion, fit for a giant. that's what i am to you, isn't it? no longer human, but a puzzle you just can't fix, a mishaped piece you need to cut down to make it fit in its place. fit. what i'd do to look feel be the embodiment of that word. and by fit, i mean thin, and by thin, i mean skin. and bones. nothing more. I don't want to be anything more. I'm cringing at the word body because i know it's something i will never like. i never expected that response from you too, i suppose. but i shouldn't be so surprised. i saw the way you looked at me, trying on a hand-me-down from someone five years my senior, breaking the seams as i struggle to fit an arm through. i develop a fear of mirrors, i deflect from the possibility of seeing a reflect of the error I've become. breaking the binary of skinny or fat, I've become something worse, not something in between... just. worse. I don't want to live like this anymore, but it's too much now to change. so maybe I'll give up, and maybe you can rest.