“The human body is the best work of art.” ­ Jess C. Scott

There were mornings,

where all the mirrors were covered with a net. One that would catch your projected insecurities, and house them there until they grew too large to ignore. Becoming a permanent part of the reflections they presented. Every time you dare to glance over they would be the first thing your eyes catch, the monstrous voices of self ridicule further exaggerating them in your mind until it was they were only part of your distorted reflection you could think about.

There were days, where you feared your reflection. Trying to avoid every reflective surface, mirrors, windows, tiles, spoons keeping you head down looking at the carpets or hardwood floors.​(bubbling bubbling bubbling)​ Memorizing every section,​(bubbling bubbling bubbling)​ every inch of every floor you ever walked on​(bubbling bubbling bubbling)​ . Anxiety slowly building up inside you like boiling water,​ bubbling, bubbling, bubbling,​ In the pit of your stomach, up to the back your throat, waiting to boil over.

Like the day,

you came home from a long day of studying the ground, (​bubbling bubbling bubbling​) waiting all day for the unreflective safety of your room, ​(bubbling bubbling bubbling​) and found your hardworking father, unaware of your fear, had installed mirrors as closet doors. It becomes to much, the pot over boils and ​spills​, it ​spills​, and ​spills​. Hot water going everywhere burning away any evidence of this act of love. Leaving only a singed heart, scraped knuckles, and shattered mirrors. “To lose confidence in one’s body is to lose confidence in oneself.” ­ Simone de Beauvoir

There were afternoon’s,

where the sweet, savory, and sinful demons tempted your noise as you walked on to the battle grounds. ​Keep smiling. ​The same demons you fought all week, but your battle strategy is unbeatable, unbreakable. ​Hold your position and stay strong. Take out your lunch there’s nothing wrong. Keep smiling. ​“Why aren’t you eating?” ​Keep smiling.​They ask. ​Keep smiling.​You’re not hungry. ​Nothing taste as good as skinny feels.

There were evenings,

where your tirelessly, tugged, trying to cover burned, red, puffy, wrists. The thick rubber bands worn thin. ​Thin.​ ​The growling monster in your stomach remaining untamed. ​snap snap snap. ​You attempts to train it as futile as ever. ​snap snap snap. ​Sitting in first period, tugged at your sleeve as your teacher offered you the donuts she promised the day before.​ snap snap snap. ​At lunch, it tugged at your sleeve, when we watched everyone enjoying Sarah’s birthday cupcakes, the purple frosting matching the bruises on the inside of your palms. ​snap snap snap. ​Now the saints meet you at the door, beckoning you in your mother’s voice to come to the kitchen. ​snap, snap ​break​… ​your front line, your most trusted solids, leaving you defenseless, unarmed, alone. They break. You break.

Like the evening,

you sat down to a full plate, matching the full smiles on your family’s face. ​You’re not hungry​. You look down at the deadly weapons armed before you, mashed potatoes with butter:​ 237 calories​.​You’re not hungry. ​Roast beef with gravy: ​287 calories.​ ​You’re not hungry.​ White bread biscuits: ​135 calories. ​You’re not hungry. ​Laughing, they’re laughing, talking about their days, you’re smiling, ​keep smiling, ​refilling your water for the third time. “Stop playing with your food, eat it.” The monster in your stomach, tugs at your sleeve. You reach for your solids, they’re not there, you’re alone,​ ​alone​. ​With a heavy heart, you lift the fork, to your mouth, ​you’re not hungry, ​and put that loaded gun in your mouth. It turns to dust as you chew, the monster grows, ​more, more, more, ​until you’ve swallowed the whole arsenal and began looking for ​more, more, more​. You go to your room feeling full, bloated, disgusting, ​fat. ​You need to fix this, ​you’re not hungry, it’s not hard, ​you weren’t hungry, ​two fingers will get the job done nicely.

“You are imperfect, permanently and inevitably flawed. And you are beautiful.” ­ Amy Bloom

There were nights,

where the numbers swirling around in your head made it hard to sleep. ​How many calories are in one apple slice?​ ​Or that piece of gum I swallowed by accident? ​To help ease your mind you begin making lists, list of happy things, happy things, things you’ll do when your pretty, ​pretty, ​skinny​. ​where you would stare at reflection hoping to see some change, any sign of change, but only finding the same distorted image from three months ago. You can almost see her, that beautiful, ​skinny​, ​girl inside you. The emptiness inside you will be gone once you see her in that mirror. But at night as you lay there in bed again you feel that hungry void eating up any shred of happiness you have left. It can’t help it. ​It’s Hungry.

There were nights,

where you lied in your bed, the weight of your worthless pulling you deeper into the darkness already threatening to swallow you whole. ​(Thunder thighs) ​The void inside you growing bigger with every breath you take, threatening to collapse you from the inside out. (Fat) ​You lie there, thinking and thinking and thinking. ​(Flabby)​ You never stop thinking, the voices in your head are insomniacs. ​(Ugly Bitch) ​Their whisperings take away any hope you have of sleeping. ​(Bloated) ​You suffer the whole night as each syllable cuts deeper and deeper, leaving the world ​ugly ​tattooed inside your eyelids. ​It’s becoming too much.

Like the night,

you sat there in front of that monster in the mirror. ​(crack, crack, crack,) ​Alone. Its Red puffy eyes staring back at you. ​(crack, crack, crack) ​The darkness moving in behind you, destroying the last of your defenses. ​(crack,​ ​crack, crack) ​Your legs crossed, the bottle in your lap, nervously twisting that child proof cap. ​crack, crack, crack.​ You want to tell yourself to keep fighting, but all those sleepless night have taken their toll. ​crack, crack, crack. You’re ​tired,​ you’re ​weak​, you’re​ worthless​, you’re ​nothing​.

crack, crack,……pop.

“Wanting to be someone else is a waste of the person you are” ­

Marilyn Monroe

I was ​wasting​, wasting, wasting, wasting, wasting I was ​damaging​, destroying, diminishing,

My body,

My home,

My body,

My Temple,

My body,

My estience,

My body,

My importance,

My body,

My worth (​I’m not worthless​)

My body,

the only thing in this world that will ever truly, fully, entirely belong to me.

My body,

for you I will learn to be better,

to see from new eyes,

to learn to respect, love, hope, hold, ​expect.

But you must be patient with me, because though times left scars not only on you but inside of me.

Please know that I’m ​trying​ I’m ​trying​ I’m ​trying​. I promise I’m ​trying​. “Food is bad for me. I hate eating.”

Food is ​good for me.

Food is ​good for my body.

I can ​love food.

I can​ love my body.

If not today, than

         tomorrow.


This amazing prose piece comes from Morgan Alyse. Find her on Instagram here.

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Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com

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One comment

  1. Morgan, thank you so much for sharing your story. I first hand understand the struggles of eating disorders and not loving your body. You are so brave for sharing this with the world and know that you are beautiful, loved, and worthy!! 🙂

    Like

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