Post Six

I'm sorry.

I know that those words don't cut it, but it is the only way I can remotely ~verbally~ communicate how I feel. Two words do not have the power to heal the years of pain I put you through, I know that, but I'm still so sorry.

I have always taken pride in being kind. I care so deeply about others, and I will do everything in my damn power to make sure the ones around me feel safe and valued. I'm a shield, I protect. That is me, through and through, but I have no idea why I thought it was ok to treat you the way I did... the way I sometimes still do. I wasn't the shield for you, I was the fucking bullet, I was the fatal stab, I was the friend that shoved you down and betrayed you, and I truly am so sorry.

I know we were friends when we were young; there were no complications to our relationship; we just got along, hand in hand. We would eat ice cream sandwiches together and run around the backyard together, pretending to be fairies. We would fall and scrape our knees. We would get blisters on our hands from monkey bars. We would have ballet performances on the back porch as our stage. We were best buds.

I was eight when I started to hate you. I don't use the word 'hate' lightly… I hated you. I was eight when I would stare at you in ballet class with tears in my eyes because I was 'fat' compared to the other girls. I could argue that I was stronger, but I did not look like a ballerina. Pale pink tights hugged you, and every leotard just looked wrong. I hated the way you sweat. Everyone was bone dry, and you would drip. It doesn't matter if it reflected hard work. You looked bad. I hated it. I hated you.

When we were fourteen, 'thigh gaps' were all the rage. I would print out pictures of every actress or model that was able to maintain a 'thigh gap,' and I would obsessively idolize the two-inch space between people's legs. My sister had one, and my mom had one; why didn't I have one? I would look at you in the mirror, and I would scoop out my inner thighs and admire what it would be like not to have legs that touched. You were ugly to me. I was disgusted.

Although I hated you, I still gave you the nourishment you needed. I ate three healthy meals a day. I would occasionally snack. I exercised. I would drink a ton of water, but mostly because I knew it filled you up and could suppress your appetite. I did what I needed to do to maintain the baseline of a healthy relationship between us, but when I was seventeen, that all changed.

When I realized I could control you, it all went to shit. I was the evil puppeteer, and you were helpless and controlled by every string. I was the seeing-eye dog that led you astray, I was supposed to protect and nourish you, but I instead chose to rip you apart as I starved you. I starved you, literally- One kit kat and a shit ton of caffeine, that was what my day consisted of. We danced together for almost three hours a day, and you would uncontrollably tremble and shake as we sat on the bench in the bathroom, just trying to catch a breath and not pass out. We finally accomplished the thigh gap I always wanted, but you looked like an eleven-year-old girl. We had no sex appeal or curves, just a board with snappable limbs. Size 25 waisted jeans were the new standard of what we could fit into, nothing bigger than that would suffice.

Every healthy pound you NEEDED back, I punished you for it. I would tell you how repulsed I was by you, and I would bawl in front of the mirror saying how ugly you were out loud. I hated that you didn't fit society's current standard of beauty. I hated you, and I continued to try and starve you. If something did not go my way, you were the first one to know. How? Well, I didn't feed you for as long as you could last. I controlled you. I controlled us.

I'm sorry. You have never failed me even though I have failed you so many times. You have pushed me to the brink of my dance's physical ability; You created art with me through movement. You've healed me when I have been sick. You have recovered with me during sleep. You have held the people I love most. You have worn my favorite sweaters and have taken me to my favorite places. You have been with me every second of every day of my 20 years, and you have never failed me. As much as I can separate us in theory, you are my body and you are me. You are Gwen. I am Gwen, and I am sorry. I failed you; I failed us, but not anymore.

I am beautiful in my way. As cliche as that is to say, and even when I don't always believe it myself, it is true. I am no longer a stick; I am healthy. I have a belly named 'Carlita,' mostly when I eat my ice cream weight and drink my weight in coffee (with cream and sugar now). I have big boobs and a flat butt, strong/long legs, and weak arms. I don't have much of a waist, but you can usually see my top two abs, which is a win for me! I get tan in the summer and pale in the winter. I have abnormally small hands and feet. My face isn't classically beautiful, but I think I have a warm smile and trusting big eyes, and I love that. I still dance. I love to walk and hike and swim. I am beautifully unique. I am just beautiful, Gwen.

It is easy to fall in the trap of comparison. It is easy to only focus on the things you don't like. It is easy to want validation continually, and it is easy to fall back into toxic habits. I hate that the most toxic relationship I have had is with myself. You are the only person who is continuously going to be there for you, so you might also work on that relationship over anything else. I am doing everything I can to find love for myself. It is filled with trial and error, but the most I can do is forgive the past and move forward with an appreciation for my strength.

Everyone has beauty in both their mind and body. We are remarkable beings that are so gloriously different, which makes the dynamic of life a hell of a lot more fun. I can't just say 'go out and love yourself,' because saying those words is so beyond easy, and executing that confidence can almost feel impossible at times. By no means am I lecturing, because frankly, sometimes I don't know what the fuck I am doing, but all I know is surrounding yourself with the people that make you feel worthwhile, going out and doing things (not just for the sake of doing them), but to learn and grow are essential. To be able to appreciate the small things that make you smile and laugh and tell yourself you are beautiful every day (no matter what state you are in). Those things help. At least they do for me.

I am sorry for all the things I said and did to you. I'm working on it.

You are a pretty cool chick. Go out and laugh that laugh and smile that smile. Just be you, and don't let anyone, not even yourself, let you be anything else.

Wish on a dandelion, Gwen.

Love always,

G