I remember when you told me I was innocent.
You see to you there was a difference of definition:
Innocence was whether or not you had smoked a joint or had your first beer or bloodied your knuckles on a brick wall.
But for me innocence was when I still loved myself. It was being able to look in the mirror and not hate your reflection. It was being able to go through a day without thoughts of wanting to die. It was days without depression or anxiety attacks.
For you innocence was physical but for me it was mental.
Because all I know is at 11 I was already making meals out of pain killers and diet coke.
By 12 I had become a statistic. I was that 1 in 50 you hear about in pamphlets and health classes. That’s a lonely number.
At 13 little lines started showing up. I don’t know why I started don’t ask me. I didn’t think they were beautiful. I never will. I don’t know why they had to yell at me about it. I didn’t make a mess. At least I wasn’t throwing up my food while my family was there for Thanksgiving. Now I’m 1 in 5.
They were just a little red.
I hate the color red now.
By 14 I met someone who was worse then me. She had lost down to 80 in a month and a half. And while I should have been thanking God I didn’t go that far, I was thinking to my self why I wasn’t good enough to have a BMI lower than 16.5.
15. Who is God and why don’t I hear from him anymore? I think he’s given up on me. He’s let everyone else leave. It would only make since if he did too. Maybe it’s because I have too many demons to fight. If that’s the case then I’m sorry. I love you but…
Maybe it’s for the best.