Dear Mom, I hate you for pointing out my insecurities every day of my adolescent life. I used to love you before I noticed you couldn't love me the way I was. Dear middle/high school, I hate you for making me fight for my body like it was a war. Dear myself, I hate you for caring so much about things that shouldn't matter and for making me obsess over the every little calorie.
Dear Bulimia/Anorexia:
I used to love you, I used to be proud to show you off, I used to be careless about the way you made me feel. I used to come home and weight myself five time a day, I used to measure out my dimensions. I used to rationalize calories for different parts of the week, and on bad times, throughout the months. I used to eat 6 almonds every day for three months and taught myself that fainting is just like sleeping. I used to scratch my head and pull out locks of my hair. I loved you, like a heroine addict loves dope.
Fuck you for making me so weak, fuck you for showing me a normal life, and fuck you for purging on it years later. You let me have my sweet taste and I've let it consume me. Fuck you for making me turn my mirrors around and for making me look at myself as if I was broken and needed a good fixing. Fuck you for taking my life and for taking my pride.
I can't possibly think of the many ways to say how I loved you. I can't think of all the ways I want to say how much I hate you. I used to blame myself for not abiding to your rules, I used to blame myself for that burger I ate last month, I used to blame myself for the weight I've gained.
Dear You, I have personified you to the point where I'm scared to tell you I don't want it anymore. You are not a disease, and you're so proud of it. You're a fucking part of me. A part I don't want to be anymore.