Dear body,
I don't remember when I began to hurt you and I don't remember why I started.
Honestly, I haven't ever thought about when or where our relationship became so messed up. All I can think about now is how much I wish I knew and how sorry I am.
I am sorry for trying so hard to change and transform you rather than allowing your natural changes to happen automatically and without force.
I am sorry for blaming you. For my unhappiness, my unworthiness, my anger, and my discomfort.
I am sorry for restricting you from the nutrients you deserve and allowing you to go hungry and unsatisfied.
I am sorry for pushing you to run faster, workout harder, and burn more calories when all you've wanted to do is rest and save the tiny little bit of energy you have left.
I am sorry for constantly trying to hide the stretch marks on our thighs, and for covering you up because I'm unhappy with and embarrassed by the way you look.
I am sorry for always comparing you to other girls' bodies instead of appreciating you – the one and only unique body I have.
I am sorry for feeling disgusted by you so frequently and for putting all of your worth in an irrelevant number on the scale or in the number of calories I've fed you that day.
I am sorry for all the times I stare at you in the mirror, squeeze you at the looser parts, sob tears of pure hatred for you, and wish away parts of you. I am sorry for every time I look at you and make you an object to hate, punish, and improve.
I am sorry for damaging you. For breaking you down and tearing you apart. I am sorry for seeing you as a rugged and unwanted Raggedy Ann doll while trying to transform you into looking like a picture-perfect Barbie doll.
I am sorry for all the times I've shoved the back of a toothbrush down our throat, and for all the sore throats, swollen cheeks, chest pains, and multiple cavities that have resulted.
I am sorry for all the sharp hunger pains you've endured, and for the consecutive nights of waking up drenched in sweat because our blood sugar is so low.
I am sorry for all the hair lost in the shower and left behind in the brush. I am sorry for the dark circles under our eyes, the sunken in cheeks, and the countless bruises scattered all over our frail skin.
I am sorry for the constant lack of energy, the drop in body temperature, the frequent dizzy spells, the shortness of breath, and the recurring blackouts.
I am sorry for all the muscle loss, the weakening of our bones, and the all too familiar tingling and numbness in our hands and feet.
I am sorry for the significant decrease in our memory function and the heightened anxiety levels we feel. I am sorry for every time I shy away from something fun because of you.
I am sorry for treating you like a disposable, renewable, and worthless object – denying you of fuel simply so you will suffer into something I deem more "beautiful."
I am sorry for ignoring you. I'm sorry for not listening to you and embracing you and all the beauty you give to this world. I am sorry for punishing you when you've done nothing but keep me alive.
You see, there are many times I want to comfort you. To listen to what you have to say. And I hope — oh, more than anything I hope — that one day I will be able to listen to you and embrace every inch of you and all that you are.
And when that day comes, I swear I'll only move you when you crave activity. I'll dress you in the clothing that mirrors our soul's truth. And I'll stop blaming you for all the negative emotions I feel. Instead, I'll sit with you and those feelings and I'll be thankful for all the parts of you that allow me to take up space in this world.
I know it'll take time – so much time – for you to trust me again. But you eventually will. And when you do, we will live in harmony again like we used to when we were younger.
I will speak to you with grace, listen to you with understanding, and treat you with the self-love and self-respect you so greatly deserve.
There's just one thing I ask of you. Please, whatever you do, do not stop fighting. Do not give up on us.
Stay strong and hold on.