You have been my vehicle in which I have sprinted a never-ending race towards a taunting, forever-moving finish line.
A finish line that was always in sight, seemingly one step away, carrying the promise of being enough.
Calves burning, stomach boiling… I dragged you on this race.
I was fueled by the allure of the finish line; a promise that once I crossed, it would mean that I was worthy.
I made sacrifices to fight for my place in the race. I turned things I love into a contingency of worth as a person.
No achievement was ever enough to take me across the finish
line, so I kept running, sacrificing more with every pace.
I watched as I lost friends, interests, and any feeling of happiness; convinced it would eventually be enough to carry me across the finish
Considering all that I sacrificed, what I did to you felt trivial, just another way to reach the finish line.
I should have known that like everything else, I would never be enough for anorexia.
I only wanted what everyone said was healthy, because maybe then I would be worthy.
The sacrifices I made for anorexia promised a spot across the finish line.
My dear body…
I know that I have hurt you. That misconceptions about food and exercise have brought me one heartbeat away from death.
That I ignored you when I needed your guidance most.
I now ask forgiveness for how I have hurt you.
The chore of my pain is a moving finishing line. So I withdraw from the race.
Instead of trying to prove my worthiness through tangible achievement, I will spend my life with people who reinforce the belief that who I am, silly, weird, nerdy, and kind, is enough.
On the days that the monsters of bad body image and shame cripple me, I will remind myself, that when I am happy, I am enough.
So I promise I will listen to you. Respect you. Trust you.
With love, Me
Absolutely beautiful post, just what I needed to read.