Dear Eating Disorder,
Consider this a farewell letter. It’s time for us to part ways.
The truth is, it’s not you; it’s me. You don’t stand to lose anything, while I risk everything. You thrive on my losses—my connections, my identity, my relationships, and my sense of purpose. With every ounce I lose, you gain strength.
It’s me who’s losing sight of who I was, who I could be, and who I truly deserve to become. I have become ensnared in your grasp, losing myself in the process.
You don’t see the flaws in the mirror; instead, you view every imperfection as an opportunity to tighten your hold over me. I’m the one who perceives the distortions, feeling inadequate and ugly. You’ve become a restrictive layer that I can’t seem to shed, hiding me from the world and even from myself. I keep you close—zipped up tight—because the thought of exposure feels unbearable.
It’s not you who lies awake at night, consumed by an endless stream of meaningless metrics. You remain indifferent to these numbers while I obsess over every increment, convinced that my worth diminishes with every loss. I mistakenly equate “less” with “more,” sacrificing my joy for your demands.
You don’t experience the joy of my children’s laughter. You know nothing of happiness, for you exist as the void that devours it. My spirit is wilting, my body weakening, as I let precious moments of motherhood slip by, like dust motes dancing in a sunbeam. They are right there, yet I can’t reach them because I’m too empty, too occupied with you.
You’re not the one who feels hunger; I am. I crave peace, self-acceptance, and genuine companionship. I want to indulge in the simple pleasure of sharing a cupcake with my children. Instead, I choose deprivation over fulfillment, prioritizing you over everything that truly matters.
When I cry myself to sleep, it’s not you who feels the weight of that sorrow. You don’t wake up feeling defeated, knowing that tomorrow will mirror today. You don’t resent the person I have become, but you also don’t hear my children call out for me as I rise from bed.
You don’t experience the joy of being tackled in a hug or the delight of flipping pancakes while listening to my toddlers sing. You don’t feel that indescribable warmth when they offer me a piece of their breakfast, asking if I want some. You don’t understand that maybe, just maybe, I deserve that moment of connection and joy, even with all my flaws.
No, Eating Disorder, you don’t deserve to continue living. You have nothing to live for outside of this toxic bond. It’s me who has the potential for a fulfilling life, and I’m ready to embrace it without you.
In conclusion, I am reclaiming my life. I no longer need you and choose to pursue a path filled with love, laughter, and true self-acceptance.
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Summary
This letter serves as a powerful declaration of independence from an eating disorder. It emphasizes the toll this relationship takes on personal identity, joy, and connection with loved ones. Ultimately, it expresses a commitment to self-acceptance and a desire for fulfillment.
Keyphrase: Eating Disorder Recovery
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