kristinanor via pexels

“If my body could speak, it would tell you all the times I’ve manipulated it into thinking it was okay.

It would receive pills and caffeine to trick it into working.

It would say the pills are doing more harm than good.” – Gracie

“Why do I keep treating my body the way others treat me? Why do I ignore the messages my body is trying to communicate to me? Does it feel dangerous to listen?” – Anastasia Cosima

Bodily Betrayal

Fiction. Based on a true diagnosis.

By Bry LeBerthon

This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

Trigger Warning: our program often motivates people to discuss their trauma. If you find yourself feeling overwhelmed, please, take a step back to address emotional flashbacks and trauma before continuing to push yourself. If you are experiencing a medical emergency, call 911 or the National Suicide Hotline at (1-800) 273-8255.

You’ve never felt the need to trust your body because it’s never let you down. You never felt the need to care for it either, so what does your body mean to you?
Your body means pain
Means shame from others
Means feeling isolated and alone
Your body means hatred
Means locking yourself up in your room
Means letting your muscles atrophy until you don’t find pleasure in moving them anymore.
You’ve failed your body for nearly two decades, and now she is failing you.
You feel betrayed.
No, You’ve never properly cared for her. No, You’ve never properly loved her,
But isn’t it her job to love you?
You realize, suddenly, that you sound like the kind of people you hate. Entitled, overprivileged, under-deserving. You’ve been given something beautiful, a beautiful and voluptuous and abled body, and you’ve thrown it all away because…?
Because you’ve been told by others that you should?
Because you’ve been made to believe that she’s less than perfect?
Because your stomach isn’t flat, your thighs are thunderous, your arms swell and hang and won’t fit into t-shirts?
You love your body
You always have
Secretly, between the sheets, in the darkness of night and the quiet of morning
You have loved the way she curves and folds
Softly and sweetly sinks into the touch of others and herself
Warms your bed and anyone in it
You have loved her ability to take and take and take
Consume New York pizza so greasy it’s disgusting
Squeeze into corsets and tight bras and skinny jeans
Endure bowl after bowl, drink after drink, pill after pill
And still she protects you
She just happens to feel like shit doing it
And you’re mad at her for it? Dumbass.

To my body,
I love you. No really, don’t laugh– I do.
You’re soft and you’re kind and you’re easy to care for
You’re strong and you’re forgiving and you’re perfect for me
I’m sorry that I’ve been so cruel to you
I hope you can forgive me yet again.
If we make it through this week, I’ll walk barefoot through a field of dewy morning grass
I’ll get more than five hours of sleep
I’ll give you more veggies and less sugary tea
I’ll serve you as you’ve always served me.
But in exchange
Please be gentle with me once again
Please take and take and take
So I can give and give and give.
I love you. We’ll get through this. Love me too.

Leave a Reply

Write a comment