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Circles

In the heavy summer the heat turned the rashes on Tanya's inner thighs into scabs. The scab touched, rubbed together and broke. The trickling blood and sweat everyday disgusted her.
   Tanya's weight was a big, fat, vicious circle.
   Tanya ate. She put on weight. Being fat made her feel embarrassed about her appearance. She didn't like to go out. Staying in a lot, Tanya ate.
   Something had to be done.

That Sunday, Tanya sat in bed working back-to-front through the newspaper supplements. It was something that she had done from the age of fourteen. As she glanced quickly at the miracle solutions to her problem, a bitterness in her thighs flecked her thoughts.
   Irritated, she got up, dressed, threw out the paper and headed into her garden with a plate of food. She would spend a day under the shade of her apple tree, and gently contemplate.
   Every diet regime and exercise program had broken down. Had ended in defeat. Weight Watchers had been psychological torture and had left her feeling queasy about herself on that sea of judge mentality. But why had it all ended in failure? Why did she always end-up giving-up? She was so committed to her job. Why not with her weight and health?
   Deep in the hazy afternoon, slightly distracted by the sounds of the children playing next door, the answer started to take shape.
   The answer was in her lack of resolve. She could not see herself as thin. Her mind would wonder off elsewhere. She was putting too great an emphasis on others to gain a resolve she did not personally possess. She always delegated. Words of encouragement from friends. The intelligence of the authors of the numerous books she had devoured. The research of the diet pill designers. The patience of her personal fitness trainers at her health club.
   She realised that if anything was going to work she would need to take responsibility.
   Did she posses such strength? She attempted to think of relevant instances in her life.

Two winters previous she had slipped on ice outside of work. Not only had she twisted her ankle but also her wrist and knee. Everything buckling under her weight. She screamed openly and loudly. Passers by helped. She was in agony.
   As she had been passed through the hospital system she kept joking, about the accident, with the medical staff - the nurses, doctor, radiologist, porters, receptionists: the ground just jumped up at me, I was doing my Torvill and Dean impression, 'tis the winter of my discontent. Her way of dealing with the embarrassment of the accident and more specifically, her weight as she was being examined. The pain had been deafening but it was a way of silencing the white noise of emotion in her mind which was as equally loud.
   “Who cares? It'll heal.” Had been her mantra.
   Looking at this single event she now understood what she had to do, and more importantly, that her resolve could be strong. She would use this instance as her reference point for her own strength when she felt weak. It was a solid proof of possibility. Something to be remembered.
   “Who cares? I'll be thin!” Would be her new mantra.
   With that, the twilight was upon the garden making the greens turn velvet and lush but there was a nip in the air and she was feeling a little peckish again.

Those thoughts she had that day turn into now and two years ago, when Tanya had been fat, her libido had been one big fat vicious circle.
   On the rare occasions when Tanya thought men were paying her attention she would feel embarrassment. The embarrassment made her body turn in on itself. Tanya's physical reactions made her body look closed which made her look unconfident. Tanya would look unconfident so men figured she had no substance and quickly stopped paying her attention.

Now she is waiting patiently, in the departure lounge of Gatwick. She feels the heat of male eyes upon her body.
   Her circles are slowly, gently opening with an unknown excitement she is starting to get used to.

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