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.
******* for making me so weak, ******* for showing me a normal life, and ******* for purging on it years later. You let me have my sweet taste and I've let it consume me. ******* for making me turn my mirrors around and for making me look at myself as if I was broken and needed a good fixing. ******* 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 ******* part of me. A part I don't want to be anymore.