I’ll admit it, I see the women in magazines and sometimes wish I looked so paper thin. I swipe through my Instagram feed and scream at myself for not being so pretty and pristine. I am simply another victim in this dastardly game, aspiring to achieve an image only a computer can generate. In my youth, the lessons I learned came less from my television set. While at times I wished I could look just like Winona Ryder, the inability to change didn't make me go insane.

I was 14, and you were legally a man. But the law must have overlooked your case, for any sane adult could have seen that you were the farthest thing from mature that one could be. You were violence, you were hate, you were a sociopath set on inducing my suffering.

While I cannot remember exactly how we met, I shall never forget some of the things you said. It was all out of love, you claimed, but where is the charm in saying, "If you cut below your belly button, you can remove a layer of your fat." I should have left the moment those words slipped from your lips. My naive self saw it as a harmless joke. What a mistake. What started with a little phrase developed into the silver little pocket knife that you bestowed upon me.

With a devious grin you proudly laid the knife in my palm. Wrapping my frail fingers around the knife's waist, you told me it would be OK. So it began, the self-loathing that caused me to skip meals and sleep the days away. You were the first one that made me view my body as more than just skin and bones. I was the clay and you the sculptor, just another product to be used and abused.

From there, things only worsened. You kept careful watch of what I ate and made sure I lived up to your standard of beauty. This went on for months, and when I finally decided to put an end to our unlabeled relationship, you wouldn't allow it. So I left my high school in an effort to escape your grasp.

You wouldn't leave. You learned where I was going, and every day after school, you waited at the foot of my doorstep for me to come home. I allowed this to go on for quite sometime, but then you snapped. You would shout at me over the phone and demand that I shave the fat off my thighs so I could be beautiful.

I didn't want to be your kind of beautiful. I wanted to love myself for all that I am, but you wouldn't allow me to do what I pleased. When I stopped answering your text messages, your friends got involved. Every time the clock ticked, my phone rang. Another message violently telling me to end my life. What did I do to get myself involved with such malicious people?

The police were my final hope. They instilled enough fear in you that eventually my phone stopped ringing. It has been years since I experienced such pain, but it's something that cannot be easily forgotten. Now that you are gone, I can breathe, I can eat, I can feel free to wear whatever I please.

It is never easy to leave an abusive relationship. We so often become blinded by the situation and reject to see that we are, in fact, being mistreated. As I have matured, I have learned to love my flaws. My thighs are painted with lighting bolts that remind me how powerful I really am. I don't have a perfect body, but my body is mine, and therefore it is beautiful.

Never allow another individual to tell you your worth. Be proud of your abilities, embrace your gorgeous figure, and be brave. You are capable of so much more than you know. Abandon those that try to harm you. I promise you will be better off without them. Stay strong and know that you are loved.