Dear Anorexia,

I don't remember when you first joined me.

Maybe it was when I was seven and people called me chubby.

Even though they insisted it was affectionately.

Maybe it was when I was ten,

Surrounded by a skinny swim team.

Maybe it was when I was eleven,

And my mother made her first comment about my weight.

Maybe it was when I was fourteen,

Trying to fit into the perfect dress for formal,

And not being able to find a single one in my size.

I don't remember when you joined me,

But I remember how you made me feel.

It started simply.

Cutting Calories, Skipping Meals.

Drinking Water, and Diet Sodas.

Green Tea and I became best friends, and now I hate the taste.

My diet was liquid,

And my calories non-existent.

I couldn't tell where you started and I ended,

But I didn't care.

I just wanted to be skinny.

Collar Bones.

Hip Bones.

Flat Stomachs.

Thigh Gap.

No more chubby cheeks, meant no more chocolate.

I lost myself but I didn't mind.

You and I were intertwined,

But you had control.

I gave you everything.

Forty-five pounds, and so many years.

Vital organs, and my steady hands.

My free-will, my free-thinking.

Everything went to you.

And I was left with nothing.

But I didn't care,

It was easier to be light when there was nothing on my mind.

Counting Calories.

Measuring Fat.

Obsessing over the scale.

There is nothing wrong with that,

Right?

Then I figured it out.

I figured it out.

Who gave a shit if I weighed 100 pounds.

No one.

Who cared if my thighs touched?

No one.

Who cared if I had pancakes for breakfast?

No one.

That is,

No one but you.

Ten years to the day,

I stopped counting,

I stopped checking,

I started gaining.

It was terrifying at first,

But then I remember my worst.

Me at 100 pounds is a horror story now.

And when I think of that,

I cannot help but feel sick.

That that was me.

That I was so trapped in this twisted form of beautiful,

That I couldn't even see how sick I looked.

It was unhealthy.

It broke me.

And now?

Now I am healing.

I am putting myself back together, one piece at a time.

Not saying I won't mess up,

But for now,

I at least get to say.

Sincerly,

A recovered,

Me.

P.S: I still love chocolate, no matter the cost.