By Eisha Kukreja
She was 12 when they called her fat
“Ignorance is bliss,” she sang.
She was 13, they called her fat again
“They’re just being silly.”
At 14, they called her fat…
She looked into the mirror:
There she was—65 kgs and fat.
Covid hit, the walls closed in;
She stopped eating—gave in.
12 a.m. in a hospital bed
Tossing and turning:
“Ugh, I guess I have to eat again.”
2 p.m. nurse asked,
“Did you eat?”
“Yes, I did”—a lie on repeat.
At 15, walls closed,
Feeling alone in a home full of clones.
Blade in hand; thoughts smoldered. Suddenly—painted red,
The long sleeves started to grow on her.
Thank God winter came over.
At 16, summer began
Breath of fresh air,
A new beginning.
But turmoil followed: peril.
She again took to the blade.
3 a.m. in a hospital bed
Fluid seeping into her veins.
Regretting having to be there
“Ignorance is bliss,” again.
Pushing those feelings down
Now they won’t bother her until the glass tips over.
At 17
A blizzard. Warmth limited.
Matches counted—one match lasting not more than two minutes.
Months passed
The last match extinguished
Ice laid its tracks on the ground,
The North Pole of her mind.
Night at 6 and night at 1
The sun didn’t seem to come.
Her mind slowly gave up
Her heart holding on to a tethered coat.
There is only so much fabric
Left to withhold.