Hi, I am..(Damn, don’t you ever exercise?)
Wait, what? How does…
(Stop eating like the pig you are.)
(What is it going to take you to realise that nobody wants you here?)
(And are those scars on your wrists?)
(It’s a shame. You can’t even kill yourself right.)
(An unfortunate waste of space.)
Hi, my name is “Broken”. Broken by the words said by people who felt they were better than me just because the pointer on my scale tipped to the other side”.
My name is “Tired”. Tired of fixing it, but throwing up after every meal took its toll on me.
(But to be beautiful, you must be able to endure pain.)
Hi, my name is not “Fat” or “Pig”. My name is “Scarred”. Scarred by the rhythmic brush of the nail file against my skin, until I could no longer see nightmares of myself drowning in images of photoshopped girls.
(It was just for attention.)
Hi, my name is “Ashamed”. Ashamed of having believed that self-love was a war that I couldn’t have won.
Hi my name is “Human”. Just like you.
Loving yourself is a revolution. But so is accepting yourself on the days when disdain replaces the trust, and repulsion replaces the love. Love yourself not because you should, or because it’s a task or a means to prove your feminism. Love yourself because even on days when you don’t, you survived.