Dear Body
Dear body,
I’m sorry that I’ve spent the last twelve years hating you. I’m sorry that I would beg to be someone else. I would look in the mirror every morning in my adolescence years tearing you apart, begging for a miracle to occur where my appearance changed completely. I’m sorry that I would grab you and squish you trying to photoshop the fat away in my mind. I was surrounded by beautiful women and girls all the time. I was angry that my body wasn’t as gorgeous as theirs. At the ripe age of eleven I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism. I hated you even more body. I hated that you couldn’t do your job without the help of a pill. I hated that you weren’t going to survive without a pill. I hated you. I spent hours in the mirror covering every freckle and mole. Trying to erase my identity and who I was. The stretch marks that told the story of how I grew and how I was growing were ugly and I resented them. The pink stripes covering my body were a sign of hatred to me, many hours were spent trying to cover every single one up. I would hide you wearing my father's clothes that swallowed me, not wanting to be seen. I would refuse to shop because of you, begging not to go. The clothes I liked no longer fit, and the fashion industry was still stuck in their size zero mindset. I always thought that because of you I was never going to be loved. Who would want someone so fat? I thought I didn’t deserve love. I always wanted someone else to stare back at me through the mirror, but my biggest fear was what if I would hate them too.
