Fighter

Who am I?

Who was I?

Who do I want to be?

What do I want to be?

How do I want to be remembered?

I was 12 the first time I wore a shirt over my bikini.

I was 13 the first time I noticed I was chubby.

I was 15 the first time I skipped a meal.

I was 15 the first time I picked up the razor blade.

I was 15 the first time I cried through the entire night.

And the night after that.

And the night after that.

I was 16 when I thought about killing myself.

I never asked for this. I was never a sad girl.

I was an honors student. A cheerleader.

I had friends and a loving family.

Why was I so fucking sad?

I was made to be sad.

I was worthless.

I was ugly.

A waste.

Ugly.

I

Was a

Hourglass running

Out of time. Every night I prayed

That God would end my life. Maybe

 Tonight will be the night. My grade school

Religion teacher said God was only meant to give you

What you can handle but god dammit I could not handle

 This. I could not keep living.

I was 17 when I put the razor blade down.

I was 17 when I tucked away the scale.

But I never thought I would.

Recovery Was,

Is,

And Will Be

One of the hardest things I have done.

It wasn’t until I wanted to

Fight.

Did things get better.

I fought every damn day.

Sometimes, the depression won.

Sometimes, the eating disorder won.

But sometimes

I won.

So who am I?

Well god dammit,

I’m worth it.

I am happy.

I am beautiful.

I am a friend.

A daughter.

A sister.

I am a fighter.