The abuse

Is that at five I knew that my body was deformed. That at seven my teacher taught me of bulimia with examples of fingers and necks. And I was thirteen when the voices were not whispers, they were screams and I had to vomit. I had to drink the soup and burn this body of me that was wrong to exist.

I tried, that was the worst thing in me, that I tried not to eat. I tried my fingers with the toothbrush and I wanted to be sick, of a fever that would lower my weight and what if I died? At least I would be skinny, at least I would feel part of my society and capable of being loved.

It was that then I still believed in God and prayed to be skinny. That I ask of them to make me a minimum size. The jealousy of the models and to bring satisfaction to my bones that weighed down and repulsed me.

I was seventeen and had broken three mirrors for having my reflection. And I couldn't tell the world that the marks on my skin was me wanting to destroy the fat. That there were summer nights that I had run crying. Because I hated my existence, my mother, my body, my life, everything. Because being the way I am was a sin.

It was that at five I had understood that what was wrong with me was not in the words they were telling me or in the advertisements to reduce Fat Fast. In that, at five I had seen this photo, this video, this book, this comment, which described me as a poorly made being.

It was that at twenty I felt horrible and I wanted to die, I wanted to burn my skin and look as I felt. The fat felt on my hips every time I ate, which made wrong for me to eat.

So my friends didn't see me eat, they didn't see me drink water, they didn't see me breathe, the cigarette killed hunger and it was fine. Thinking myself cunning. 

Until they begged me to eat, but I can't, I don't want to, I shouldn't. Not when my body was horrible. I know that my stomach is hungry however it looks ugly and disgusting so no, no, no, and I TELL YOU NO.

Sorry.

By ten I began to hide in bathrooms because I couldn’t live since I felt detestable and loose clothing was good. It was an accomplice in hiding my sins, it was that I left my hair dirty and uncombed.

That I wanted everyone to see the ugliness in me, and we are fine because I smile, and yet my nails were marking my stomach.

I’m bad, corrupt code with crimes, and I don’t leave my house because there are eyes. And they can notice my damage, see that my plate is semi-complete and my throat is refusing. That without money I get cigarettes before eating a biscuit.

That at twenty-four one, would expect that I could love myself, that my body would see myself with a smile and respect. That at twenty-four I knew how to eat with honour and desire. That at twenty-four one I wanted my body to exist without scars.

But the demons grew with me and we agree that we are yet not comfortable, we are still not well. We have not yet reached peace. 

We still do not know to respect and agree to love each other, not yet, nor tomorrow, give us another year, another mind, another life.

Because we have abused this body and it is ugly without recognition.

TA.