You’ve kept me in bed for more than 20 hours of the day, making my muscles throb and pulse from pain because you didn’t allow me the energy to even roll over to the other side of my body. You quenched my thirst when I was dehydrated by telling me that water was overrated and that I could, in fact, live without it. You banished my hunger when my taste buds were out of control, telling me that “hunger is just a state of mind and you’re already crazy in the head.”
You kept me home from parties and events, fun nights out with my friends and get-togethers with my family – the people that mean the most to me. You robbed me of the real joys in life; spending time with the people I love; laughing, talking, just enjoying life. I never had that growing up, thanks to you. You’re a thief. A thief of joy, laughter, love, and life.
You kept a frown on my face even on the good days because let’s face it; even the good days weren’t even close to good. I couldn’t manage to pull the corners of my mouth up thanks to you. You took superglue to my face, permanently leaving a scowl where a smile should be. You took markers and drew in deep, shadowed, purple circles underneath my eyes. You loved to torment me. These little acts of facial transformation had people staring, and you know how much I hate attention. That’s exactly why you did it.
You kept the plaguing thoughts of failure and ridicule engrained in my mind no matter how hard I tried to reframe it. You’re persistent, I’ll give you that. You always kept me down and out. Always saying “Oh, maybe next time,” or “I can’t today, I think I’m coming down with a cold.” Sometimes it fooled people and sometimes it didn’t. It depended on how hard of a grip you had on me that day.
But here’s to you, my lovely, disgusting monster: as much as you’ve kept me down and out, as much as you’ve transformed my face and made me wither away to nothing, I now have got you beat. No longer do I stay in bed and ache from staying still, but I go out and ache from adventure. No longer to I shy away from food and drink, I cook and experiment. No longer to I stay home from fun outings and events, I go and talk. I laugh. I catch up with people. I enjoy other’s company. And I leave you home to wallow in your own self-pity.
If I have learned anything from you, it’s that I was a pushover for far too long. I regret not being the go-getter that I am now sooner. But that’s because of you. So as for you, my lovely, disgusting monster, have fun picking on someone your own size. I finally outgrew you.
