January of last year I thought the idea
of loving myself was inconceivable.
I was in a black hole, consumed
by the hatred I brought upon myself.
Once, I convinced myself I wasn’t
worth enough to the world to even eat
the food it gave, so I didn’t.
Not only were the growls from my stomach
wrenching, but the emotional toll took
the rest from me. No words in this universe
could script what it’s like to convince yourself
you’re worth less than a piece of dirt
because at least that dirt has reason to exist.
I thought I’d never escape the voice
in my head that whispered horrible things
“You’re so ugly, nobody could ever love you.
Why are you even here?
What makes you think you have a right to live?
You just take up space.”
I wish I could tell my past self that she would
not always feel worthless and she’d believe it.
I know I couldn’t help the past even if I went
back in time and tried to tell myself
what I’d be like in a year because she would
never believe me. But if she could see me now,
she’d be overcome with joy and relief.
Her knees would buckle and she’d cry to the stars
because she finally loves herself and that
is the lightest feeling in the goddamn world.
There’s no dark shadow following her around.
No loud voice telling her she’s worthless;
Even though sometimes that voice tries
to come back and defeat her, she’s strong
enough to fight it off. It’s so much easier
to live life to it’s full potential
when you don’t hate the body that carries you.