my untitled story 2.0

"i did it because i love you."

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i still remember the way it stung when my mother beat me with a splintering bamboo stick.
i still remember the way i was gripping the cold granite counter, screaming and begging her to stop.
for a moment, she paused and told me, "you know im doing this because i love you."
i was six.

i remember the first time my mother called me fat and ugly; telling me a man would never love me if i wasn't skinny.
my mother repeated it every single day— she still says it to this day.

i still remember the way a boy violated my garden and stole my flower without asking if i was ready.
i wasn't.
as i laid on his movie room floor, letting him do as he pleases, i remembered every time my mother hurt me, she told me it was because she loves me
so that must mean this boy loves me, right?
he called me pretty
he called my body beautiful
two words that rarely left my mother's
mouth.
i was sixteen.

i remember the nausea i felt at the thought of food.
i remember breaking down when i looked in the mirror, thinking back to my mother's harsh words.
i remember the exhaustion from grueling three hour practices, with only an iced coffee in my stomach.
i remember the body dysmorphia.
i remember the eating disorder im still fighting today.
it started during quarantine.

they don't know the reason i lost 20 lbs was because i hated my body so much that i stopped eating.

they don't know the reason my body count is higher than other girls is because my mother taught me to seek male validation.

they don't know the reason my pain tolerance is so high is because my mother frequently beat me, "out of love"

if you were to ask my younger self, 'what does it mean for someone to love you?' i would've said, "when they hurt me," because that's exactly what my mother instilled in me.