Dear eating disorder,
Because of you, I hate me. I hate the face that I see in the mirror. I hate the body I was born into.
I see the hurt covering my mom’s face as I tell her that I can’t eat the pie that she’s baked just for the family to enjoy. I can tell that it’s killing her. I know what I’m doing–what you’re doing–to her, but I can’t stop you, can I? Because you’re me.
I lay in bed and I feel you slipping under my skin. I can feel you twist and turn in me. You’re just settling in. I am you’re home. I let you live her rent free as you quietly take little pieces of me, hoping I won’t notice. But I do. I see what you’re making me become, and I hate you a little more each day because of it. Now, it’s just learning to say it out loud.
You will not break me. You will not break me. You will not break me.
I open my mouth to fight you off, but you wrap my vocal cords around your fist. You let me know that I am your slave. You took the best of me and tore it down. It wasn’t hard, though. I let you do it. I knew it wouldn’t take you long to turn me into everything I hated.
But guess what? You don’t get to be the villain in my story anymore. To me, you’re history. You don’t get to have a say anymore. This life? It’s no longer yours. I will never, ever get so low again. That is one promise I plan to keep.
You will not be the end of my story.
You will not be what destroys me.
You will not get the credit for all the I become.
I’m strong today, but it’s not because of you. It’s because of who I chose to be.
I’m tired of hating the body that has accompanied me through my 19 years of life. I’m tired of hating the face that looks like my mother. I’m tired of hating me because of you.
You will not break me, and this time, I know for sure. You’re done in this body. You’re done in this life.
The strong, independent woman you’ve been trying to silence. She’s back.