Slowly, hands trembling, I stepped toward the instrument that has been controlling my life.  Would it bring good news today?  Or attack me with large, heavy numbers . . leaving me crumpled and useless on the floor . .  With a deep breath I step my right foot on, followed by the left.  I close my eyes and exhale.  Finally I've worked up enough courage to stare down at the numbers.  132.4 stares up at me.  I've seen lower, much lower.  But what great news!  I step off the scale with a sense of accomplishment and hop in the shower.  Pain sears through my wrist, my forearm, my thigh, my hip . .  Blatant reminders that I cut last night.  Clearly I got carried away.  But who cares?  132.4.  I scrub away all the dirt and hurt from yesterday.  132.4.  I watch as blood and memories are sucked down the drain.  132.4.  Feeling successfully clean I shut the water off and step out of the shower.  130....what?  132.4?  Better check again, that can't be right!  No way I've dropped two pounds.  Time to step on the scale again.  Right foot.  Left foot.  132.2.  A change...don't know which is right.  Stupid scale.  Better stick with 132.4.  132.4.  132.4.  Step off the scale, grab my towel, head to my room to get dressed.  Long sleeves and jeans of course.  Cover the scars, cover the bruises, cover the fat.  And now I can start my day . .