To the body whom I’ve hated for so long,
When did it all go wrong?, I would ask. I didn’t know what sense to make of the feelings I was experiencing. I was wandering in a tunnel with no entrance or exit, as if a boulder crashed down on both sides and trapped me until my death. In this state, there was no pleasure, no nurturance, no fulfillment of requirements, just… emptiness. I looked at you, questioning everything I had ever been told. I would focus my eyes, avert them to cry, but always returned my gaze towards you. I did not want to cease my observations of what you were. My body… The one whom struggled beneath another while pleading for air but being refused the release, who faced raging fists in horror, who could’ve never ranked high enough to be someone’s priority or was never “just right” for anything… These demonstrations could only describe to me the reality, right? That I could never be loved or that, maybe, if you were just “good enough”, I’d be deserving of respect, love and dignity? You had never done anything wrong to me and yet, I let myself be convinced by past abusers that the only way you could ever receive love was through destruction.
I used to face you in the mirror, glaring into those sunken eyes of flat blue; tears filling up every pore down my cheek, with the idea that being thin must be the route to happiness. I harassed you and called you names I would have never even geared towards my worst enemy. I tore you apart with blades, followed by excruciating exertion in the presence of overwhelming heat, without allowing you fuel up. I treated you like a slave to perfection, on your knees in front of my barbed whip of self-destruction. You were hungry, your stomach growling in anticipation, and I silenced you cries with closed fists, injecting you with pictures of the thinnest women I could find. With the crack of my ill whip, I emptied you of your self-esteem and self-love, grasping a blade within your palm. You could’ve swallowed the kitchen whole, but the damage I had done to you made you a pit of nothingness; something of pure hunger. You begged and pleaded to be released from my hateful grip, but I could never discard my power to assess your needs.
I’d starve and exhaust you. You had no more balance in your life and your body suffered. And when I couldn’t control you, your will brought you to the cubbert where you indulged. I punished you. You were starved and wounded with open sores. I forced you to hoard anything that could harm you, just in case I wanted to end you. I opened your throat to bottles of pills and heaps of water, and to release spewing vomit if I saw fit. You never did anything wrong to me but I hated you so dearly. You were my best friend and my worst enemy.
Through the most emotionally driven times, I could not cope with my problems and the intensity of my feelings, and so, I made you tear yourself open, creating gates, windows and doors for more self hate to seep within. I left you, spewing on the cold tiles of the bathroom floors. A marionettist of pure hatred; pulling you limb from limb, covering you in bitter red paint marks, dancing to the tune of my insanity. I abused you and handed you all the weapons to hollow exits for blood and any self-love left. I created a false love for you, one you were convinced would never leave you; accompanying you in your grave. I turned you into a canvas that I may never be capable of repairing.
Your scalp began to feel the warm sun when I ensured you that removing hairs would help you feel better. You obeyed, and began to do it on your own terms. I wanted you to stop but you couldn’t. I looked you in the mirror and saw nothing but disgust; becoming unrecognizable. Each field of waste land, dry and porous, in desire of being a lively field once again. Your fingers lingered on every surface and between every strand that danced upon my skin, questioning where the perfect place to desert would be.This that I had caused you brought so much pain and loss, and you struggled to bring the fields up again.
What have I done to you? Why did I convince you that you weren’t good enough when you were more than that all along?
In such a short amount of time, I made you lose over 12% of your body weight, and I hated the way you looked then more than I hated when you were eating properly and healthily. Even though we had this experience, we are putting the weight on together and restoring what was lost. You may have scars but I am not ashamed of them, nor am I proud of them; I finally accepted that they are a part of you.You may be thinning in some spots, but you still grew a full head of hair that touches the top of your breasts, and this is after you pulled chunks out and we shaved half your head.
In reality, dear body, you have always been beautiful. I abused and hurt you in ways I will never be able to take away because of things you didn’t do. You were the only one who never let me down. You tried your hardest to keep me alive and you succeeded. I am facing and going through recovery because of your accomplishments. You filtered the dozens of pills I filled you with constantly and you never stopped pushing through. Even when my toxicity levels tripled, you were there for me and you were hard in combat. I tore your throat apart, ripped your skin to shreds, put your body out of balance. You may be scarred, struggling with weight gain/loss, and have short hairs covering your body or hairs that will never be seen again, but I love you more than I ever have. You are beautiful. You are more than good enough.
When I look in the mirror from now on, I will not see all the flaws I wish I could change. Instead, I will admire those bright blue-green eyes, your luscious hair, your outstanding smile and I will remember how amazing you are. With you by my side, we will conquer all of our fears and anything that stands in our way of recovery.Nothing will stop me from loving you above and beyond the amount you need to be loved.
These things I have hated for years cannot and should not be changed. You are beautiful to me, and it is not conceited for me to admit this.