Dear eating disorder,

What have you done to me?

Until a bit ago, when recovery stumbled across my broken self, I was an entirely different person.

I shunned those who I had been brainwashed to judge, avoided the helping hands of my loved ones, and stayed hidden behind a mask that you had created for me.

Yes, you.

While you are the reason my body is going through such a hard time trying to mend the parts that you’ve broken, this isn’t your fault.

It’s mine.

It’s my fault that I believed you in the first place; that I believed that appearance was worth more than personality and love.

I hate you.

I hate you with every fiber of my being and I find joy in realizing that I’m not the only one.

My hatred for you runs as deep as the depths of the ocean and I will never forgive you for what you’ve done.

I’ve had few role models in my life, but during my days with you, those other role models were pushed aside in my attempt to follow after your influence.

My body, the temple that I’ve now learned to worship, despite its appearance that I once hated, was abused because you made me believe that it was the right thing to do.

For that, I can never let go of what you’ve done.

This is the only grudge that I will ever hold onto.

How do I differentiate between right and wrong?

How do I know that I’m making the right choice and not the wrong choice?

I didn’t know the answer to that a while ago, but now I do.

Was it right that I was starving myself?

“Yes,” you replied.

“No,” I tried, but my voice, a meek whisper, was drowned out by yours almost as soon as it was audible.

The sparrow had flown too low.

What is right to push my family away when they tried to help?

“It was necessary,” you replied once more.

“Maybe I should listen to them,” but my words were swept away and I was forced to watch myself spiral away into the brain fog once more.

Its grip on me was like a prison- a cage that I had foolishly flown straight into.

You kept forcing me down, and down, and down until I was suddenly the shadow.

Like a puppet on strings, I was no longer in control.

My days, which were once fantastical and full of adventures with family and friends, turned into a dull, meaningless routine.

During that time, you made a home out of the shell that my new body was.

It felt like you were replacing me, like you’d sucked me out of my own “home” while resizing it to your desire.

I wasn’t living anymore; I was simply surviving.

Doubt was slowly rising within me as more and more people shared their own experiences and spoke out against you.

You were quick to squash that hope, but I never forgot.

Every time I felt a shred of doubt, I also felt strength.

The more people who spoke, the more doubt festered inside of my core, boiling like water in a kettle.

Finally, after almost 3 years of you dictating my life, one last person spoke, and that was all I needed.

Suddenly, I was breaking free from the shackles that you had imprisoned me in- like a sparrow finding its will to fly again.

The first few flaps were hard as you tried to grab hold of the reins once more, but once I had it, I was gone.

I was tearing through the sky of recovery, away from your influence, and I swore that nothing would ever be able to ground me again.

It was terrifying, but also fantastical.

Now, I’ve found my way out of your prison, and there is not a single chance that I’ll ever swoop that low again for as long as I live.

"Wings of Freedom" by S. Davis