To My Body

A letter

To my body-

I just would like to apologize. I know, I depend on you. Without you, I wouldn’t be here. But I also understand it takes two. I use you, and I don’t ever give you enough credit or respect. You’re always trying to bounce back, but I mess up and just expect you to fix yourself on your own. I ignore your cries for help, I dismiss your issues and disregard you until I physically can’t ignore them anymore. I take advantage of you. I know I won’t last forever, but that doesn’t give me the right to use that as a dismissal. Because we are in this together. I think I need to take care of you better. Because I figure, (incorrectly) but often, that I am Just my thoughts, and you are just my vessel. You’re more than that. While I sleep, you work. While I cry inside, you hurt. Just because you don’t look the way I want you to all the time, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t respect you. When I was a teen, caught up in my eating disorder, I hated you. I couldn’t stand you, I saw you differently in that mirror even though you ached with hunger and my bones could be seen through my skin. You tried to warn me and I didn’t care. And because of that, I apologize, for the years I hurt you just so others could look at me in envy when I couldn’t stand to look at myself. That’s key. I couldn’t stand myself on the inside, so I took it out on you. When I looked in that mirror, I saw pain. You don’t need approval, I shouldn’t either. And we all grow old, but that doesn’t give me the right to do what I’ve done. Bulimia was my vice. You paid the price. And I know that. And I knew that. I thought…I thought I DESERVED that. But I didn’t care. Denial is a bitch. Not you. I only cared about the numbers that would show up on my scale, or the ones I counted while looking at the nutrition facts. The fact was I wasn’t giving you nutrition. How could I expect you to look the way I wanted when all I did to achieve it just made it the opposite way? I wanted to disappear, but you prevailed. You fought as much as I have, a digital altar in the bathroom robbed me of my attention to reality. You are not just me. You are me behind the scenes. When I sleep, you process. And when I was struggling with anorexia and bulimia and binge-eating disorder, you would do your best to recover as I slept. Then I woke up just to plan how I could sneak into the bathroom after meals and get rid of all the sustenance you needed. I tricked you. I would eat, and then I would puke. I manipulated you while bulimia manipulated me. Maybe I will never fully be the same physically. You still deal with the repercussions. I hated my bulimia, but to be honest, I didn’t hate it until I stopped the behavior. At that moment, I felt free. I felt…cleansed. Nothing could be further from the truth. It’s a struggle on both fronts. We are in recovery, the bulimia banished to the shadows for years now. We live in harmony. I love you. I love feeling free as I pass the digital scale with my head high and a smile with my teeth. But I know you always hurt because of who I was/what consumed me. It’s OK. I’ve been going to the doctor, recovering for so many years. I know I messed us up. But we are fixing it. I am OK now. It’s been 7 years since I hovered over the toilet. I am proud of myself. I am proud of you. Sometimes, I tell myself that I have no right to complain. The truth? It is that I do. Because I am my voice. I am words. But. so. Are. you.

you can only do so much. And I am prepared to do more. I love you because I am whole. Numbers can float in the sky, away from me. As of now, we live in peace. Not pieces

-Wen