Dear body,

I just want to tell you that there’s nothing wrong with you. It is okay our thighs got wider and our tummy a little flaccid. It doesn’t matter if our arms are plump and our jawline vanished. It’s fine if we don’t fit into our clothes anymore, and if we can’t exercise as much as we used to.

I’m sorry I’ve lied to you. I’m sorry I wish so bad you were sick.

You are enough.

You are still beautiful despite the countless times I’ve loathed, starved, pinched, and examined you for hours in front of the mirror screaming in my head horrible things at you.

Forgive me for putting onto you the heavy burden of being worthy or not of love, just because of how you look. I apologize for not letting you feel the warmth of the sun and hiding you every chance I get. Sorry for every time I burst into tears because you are no longer the way you used to be.

I’m sorry for every time I want to scream until my last breath because you don’t look the way that I, in a twisted, unrealistic, and unhealthy way think you should be.

I’m sorry for every time I blame you because of my fears. Leave you alone, and don’t let anyone in.

I love you.

And I am grateful because you’ve managed to allow me to do things I enjoy even though I fight you so much not to. I thank you for being there with me when no one else was and I’ve just ignored you.

I appreciate every time you’ve reminded me that we are not supposed to fit into our clothes. The clothes are supposed to fit into us.

You are not disposable, they are.

I’m trying my best to get better, I swear.