Fat.
The word rolled off his tongue so smoothly that one would think it was a frequent visitor.
His cruel lips twisting into a smile, relishing in my pain.
He loved it.
He'd feed off it as the desire for me to eat dissipates like the brief feeling of comfort I'd feel as a child, smelling my mama's cigarettes as she'd envelope me in her arms.
But alas, the feeling would be torn from my body and I would be thrust back into this cold life.
A reality in which I despised the vessel given to me.
The body my mama had spent 9 painful months making for me.
Given to me as a gift, only for the girl in my reflection to turn her hateful eye from.
She'd eyeball me back, tugging at the layers roughly before sighing.
Not good enough.
She'd hiss at me coldly before abandoning me, leaving the body she couldn't bring herself to love to sink through the floor.
My horrid body weighing me down till I was nothing on the surface.
"Hurt me more" my voice would beg to the void.
Maybe if it hurts me more, I'll lose weight.
Maybe if I hate myself more, I'd eventually love...
Me...
To love my body, soul, and life.
Or...
To find solace in the insults that shattered my esteem like a phone dropped onto jagged rocks face down.
Although he and I had one thing in common..
Pain is such a beautiful thing.
Pain.
NH
