dear,

it’s been so long since i’ve last written to you.

have you missed me? i’ve missed you. terribly, terribly so. i look in our bathroom mirror (the one that you would let your body draw smiley faces on when the glass fogged from a too-hot shower, remember?) and see you again. we share the same eye-bags and bright, big eyes that are hard to miss. i think that is one of my favorite things about you two.

i wish i could give you a hug right now.

for so long, you’ve been obsessed with the idea of being seen as nothing short of perfect. even the simplest criticism would tear you apart; whether it was brought on by a friend who told you your hair would look better when straightened, or your teacher kindly telling you a way to improve your paper, you’d spiral into the void of worthlessness. you yearned, ached, craved, to be perfect above all else, if nothing but to prove to others that you were worth the time and effort. that you were worthy of love. that you were enough. it was always one or the other, to you. society showed you validation in the form of grades and a zipped mouth and you took it and your body ran straight for the hills; not daring to look back when she stumbled, never catching her breath when her lungs screamed for air, and swallowing her tears when her feet were blistered and weeping with pain.

and oh, don’t get me started on the way you’d refuse the help of those who offered a hot meal, a warm bed to sleep in, some new clothes to replace your torn ones. your body’s great beautiful eyes were crazed with a hunger that nothing could stave. 

you wouldn’t stop–you couldn’t stop. every piece of praise whispered to you was a double-edged sword, adding to the immense weight on your shoulders that you carried. i’d never call you a hoarder for anything other than that. you were horrifyingly unstoppable, picture perfect to all eyes but your body’s own.

but of course, fabrication only lasts so long before the seams start to unravel.

and suddenly, all your faults were on display in the worst way possible. you were nothing more than a follower to what your friends wanted (because to you, what’s the best way to be perfect if not catering to everyone else around you?), and as a result that’s all they saw: your wrongdoings, your flaws, your wounds. it’s what you became to them. it’s what you became to society.

and, of course, still trying to be perfect, it’s what you became to yourself: a monster.

i am here to gently, gently, gently remind you that you are more than what you’ve been trying so hard to shove deep down, because of the pressure of those around you. i am so sorry that so many have failed to acknowledge your body’s silent screams, or that you even had to have her scream silently in the first place. you are not defined by your errors, or by the diagnosis of your doctor as you start on antidepressants. you are more than the wrong-doings society has deemed you of. you are more than the trauma your parents put you through. these facts are all a part of you, yes, but there is more.

here, i’ll tell you a little secret: did you know you are an avid fan of making playlists for each season, every feeling, every friend you’ve made? you want to go into ui/ux engineering to make technology more accessible for those less fortunate, and someday you hope to own a cat. you may not have many friends anymore, but you’ve learned that tiramisu is yummy in its coffee form, your body fizzling with adrenaline. the sky is blue, and you want to get a star tattoo on her torso and your body’s hands still sweat when you’re nervous. some days she struggles to eat and posters of your favorite artists line your walls, smiling at you while you let her dance in your room late at night.

you are also so, so incredibly strong. i am so proud of you. and i mean both of you, in all of your entirety–down to the last cell of your always-changing body. wanna know another secret? you and your body are best friends. stop fighting against her pleas for help. you’ve been at war for so long. i’m tired of it, exhausted even. she’s been fighting alone for so long, and i know you have been, too. you can only win by working together. you know, she eats now, because you remind her to. she massages her aching muscles (to your chagrin), because you know she needs the relaxation. she walks in the opposite direction, away from those who you know will cause her heart to race and hands shake, because you let her. and she feels better.

allow yourself to indulge her more than you think is deemed “okay” by society. take good care of her. i love you.

oh, and before i forget.

i forgive you, too. always.

yours,
☆