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Untitled Diana Malinovskiy Have you ever experienced that feeling of completely loosing yourself? You look in the mirror and suddenly you don’t recognize the person looking back at you? Suddenly you forget what it feels like to be happy, to be human. My name’s Diana Malinovskiy, and this is my story. The scale had become a dominant part of my life ever since I was young. It was the societal pressure to be thin and be at a certain weight to be considered beautiful, and the added pressure of my own mother to lose weight. I spent years and years of my life standing on that scale multiple times a day overanalyzing the number that was shown and making plans on how to starve myself the next day. It was this that had screwed me over so badly. That fire inside of me wanting so badly to be 90 pounds. The desire to be skinny, because to me, skinny was beautiful. Skinny was what was going to make me accepted by society. Skinny was what was going to finally satisfy my mother. I had grown up overweight. Coming in and out of doctors’ offices with flyers, tips, and meal plans on how to lose weight. But what they told me didn’t matter to my mom; she had an entirely different plan when we got home. She gave me strict rules. No walking into the kitchen past six o’clock in the evening, exercising for two hours every day minumun, trying every diet trend you can possibly think of. Low carb? Low sugar? Water diet? You name it, I’ve tried it. None of this ever worked of course; every time I watched my mother become disappointed that nothing was working and give up. It was the burning desire to make my mom proud of me that left a burden hanging deep on my heart. Replaying the same scene every few months of her giving up on me, myself breaking down and promising to do and be better, start the process again, and repeat. The summer I finally got a grip on myself was the summer that had ruined me. I had lost over seventy pounds. To the outside, I would’ve looked happy. To other people, I was the girl who had managed to the weight no one ever thought I would. I was the girl who could finally wear the clothes other girls were wearing. I was the girl who could finally eat junk food and not be judged. I was the girl that society thought had become confident and was over flown in self love. But to me, I was girl who had lost herself in the process and had become addicted to the number on the scale and the number of calories I was consuming. Endless nights of sitting on the bathroom tile, silent tears streaming down my face, wondering why I felt more worthless than I had before. Wondering why I wasn’t happy with the way I looked. The scale, an instrument or machine used for weighing. But to society, it was an object used to measure someone’s worth. The role of scale in society is a code word for what you are worth, how beautiful you are. A million girls all around the world base who they are by the number that stares back at them. Society has engraved into our heads from a young age that the lower the number, the skinnier you are, the better. Under 110 pounds? You’re considered “skinny” and you’re envied by everyone for the way you look. If you’re over 110 pounds, suddenly you’re considered “big” and you
