Fourteen was insecure and depressed. It was sticking my figures down my throat and nothing coming up but little pieces of myself I wish I’d fought to hold onto. It was hours of exercise, hundreds of sit ups and 15 pounds. It was specks of my childhood I wasted thinking the most important thing was to have less fat on my body and wishing to just disappear all together. Fourteen screaming loud and was always looking for new ways to self destruct and new doors to slam shut.
Fifteen was self discovery, running, pills and new friends. It was singing in the shower again and also lying down crying. It was learning how to not weigh myself 10+ times a day, before showering, after, before meals and just to torture myself, after. It was new beginnings. It was learning how to trust again. It was stressful and sometimes sharp and harsh, but mostly on my self. It was burning calories and sometimes eating them back and learning that was okay. It was the beginning of a new girl. One who takes shots with her best friends and does brave things that may seem normal to others, but a challenge for her. It was sometimes crying with them and laughing with her mother and looking in the mirror and trying to look past the devils advocate contemplating the next meal.
The girl in the mirror I see now is sixteen. She is kinder now, softer. Her eyes aren’t nearly as gloomy and she stands with her shoulders further back. She’s less harsh. She’s learning how to touch with out brushing and love without limitations. She’s brave.
This is not mine, all credit goes to my dear friend whom is so lovely.