Dear Anorexia,
I don't remember when you first joined me.
Maybe it was when I was seven and people called me chubby.
Even though they insisted it was affectionately.
Maybe it was when I was ten,
Surrounded by a skinny swim team.
Maybe it was when I was eleven,
And my mother made her first comment about my weight.
Maybe it was when I was fourteen,
Trying to fit into the perfect dress for formal,
And not being able to find a single one in my size.
I don't remember when you joined me,
But I remember how you made me feel.
It started simply.
Cutting Calories, Skipping Meals.
Drinking Water, and Diet Sodas.
Green Tea and I became best friends, and now I hate the taste.
My diet was liquid,
And my calories non-existent.
I couldn't tell where you started and I ended,
But I didn't care.
I just wanted to be skinny.
Collar Bones.
Hip Bones.
Flat Stomachs.
Thigh Gap.
No more chubby cheeks, meant no more chocolate.
I lost myself but I didn't mind.
You and I were intertwined,
But you had control.
I gave you everything.
Forty-five pounds, and so many years.
Vital organs, and my steady hands.
My free-will, my free-thinking.
Everything went to you.
And I was left with nothing.
But I didn't care,
It was easier to be light when there was nothing on my mind.
Counting Calories.
Measuring Fat.
Obsessing over the scale.
There is nothing wrong with that,
Right?
Then I figured it out.
I figured it out.
Who gave a shit if I weighed 100 pounds.
No one.
Who cared if my thighs touched?
No one.
Who cared if I had pancakes for breakfast?
No one.
That is,
No one but you.
Ten years to the day,
I stopped counting,
I stopped checking,
I started gaining.
It was terrifying at first,
But then I remember my worst.
Me at 100 pounds is a horror story now.
And when I think of that,
I cannot help but feel sick.
That that was me.
That I was so trapped in this twisted form of beautiful,
That I couldn't even see how sick I looked.
It was unhealthy.
It broke me.
And now?
Now I am healing.
I am putting myself back together, one piece at a time.
Not saying I won't mess up,
But for now,
I at least get to say.
Sincerly,
A recovered,
Me.
P.S: I still love chocolate, no matter the cost.
WHATCHA THINK???
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Slam Poetry
PoetryPoems written by me for everyone. Comment idea for a mention. Number 546 in poetry. Number 395 in poetry. Number 961 in poetry. Number 862 in poetry. Number 455 in poetry. Number 485 in poetry. Number 508 in poetry. Number 279 in poetry. Number 411...