Dear Ms Rexia,
You are a lying, selfish mole and getting you out of my life all those years ago is the best thing I have ever done.
Right, that said, I have a few bones to pick with you (and no, not my bones because they are nicely covered in flesh these days and not sticking out the way you liked them).
You told me that if I trusted you to take over my workings, that I would turn into an attractive, healthy, happy, productive and in-control person that people will aspire to. Well I was never in control you phoney bitch, you were. And with you steering the ship I was far from attractive or healthy, I was sick looking and well, sick. My hair broke off, my boobs disappeared, my skin broke out. A boy I had a crush on told me I looked like a camel, because my vertebrae stuck out. A camel.
I was never happy, I was haunted. I lived in fear of your consequences if I broke the rules. Any activity I engaged in had to be approved by you – it had to conform to your ruthless skinnying regime and if it didn’t I’d feel anxious to the point of panic. Anxiety like this lead to overcompensation – extra exercise, more restrictions, anything to appease the beast. Most often it was just easier not to engage with anyone, to get away from social situations, to march along to your tune, to avoid anything like fun.
And productive? Well I probably could have powered a small city with the energy I burned in the gym. I used to kid myself that the stares from other gym members were admiring and envious. They weren’t, they were sometimes concerned, most often just unable to drag their eyes away from the car wreck that was me. I know, because I’ve seen those skinny haunted people. I can sense you a mile away. I could have easily lost all my friends but hey, at least I gave that step machine a good old run; there’s a lot of point to lifting bits of your wasted body for hours on end while the rest of the world got on with living. Thanks for that.
I invest a lot in honesty, I value it above many things and I preach to my children that the truth is so important. But you made a liar of me. You had me lying to all the people I love the most, every day. For that I am deeply ashamed and for my shame I hate you all the more. You made me believe that your cruel rules were more important than trust and love and fun and openness with other human beings. What a bully you are.
Yes I have children – did you catch that? I have a family of my own now, and the family you ripped me from before are still with me too. They still love me. I am healthy and happy and know how to laugh. Last year I trained for and ran a half marathon without losing weight, without feeling remotely addicted to exercise and with no regard for you whatsoever. You failed, arsehole.
And hear this, I’m so onto you – I know that you entice people nicely into your grip by making them feel great about losing a little weight. Great enough to lose a little more and then a little more and more and more until their brains are literally in your grip and they become an empty puppet, too weak to escape you. I know that the key to beating you is to gain that weight back, little by little until their brain switches back to being theirs and they get a clear picture of how destructive and power hungry you are and how you deserve to be dumped.
The scientists are onto you too you know. They have your number bitch. There have been experiments done that prove what was true for me. They know that genetics is a factor too, so prevention will become easier to streamline. The psychology and cognitive behavioural therapy that helped me is proving to help countless others and new preventative programs are being researched and conducted. Recently it was discovered that oestrogen levels play a part in your development, and there are treatments being looked at with this in mind. These days, you kill 1 in every 5 of your victims, but you can bet your arse there are people working to ensure your victories will lessen.
Reading that, I am very aware of how lucky I am to still be here. I used to ignore you away, pretend you didn’t exist. When I saw someone else you have ravaged I would feel repelled and disgusted. I am still so very ashamed for being so easily led by you, for worrying the people I love. I wanted to pretend those years dominated by you had never happened. But if I can help just one person shake you off with my words, then I will become a very noisy survivor. Watch your back mole. I will be shouting the virtues of ice cream and everything in moderation. And living as opposed to existing.
That said, I will be careful. I know your geurilla tactics. Your victims may not know what hunger feels like anymore but they are hungry for inspiration and anorexic practices they can emulate. I know that they will feed off someone else’s ritualistic patterns of not eating and over exercising and try them themselves. They will be scouring the internet for tips and tricks to please you. So I will not be publishing photos of myself at low weights or naming kilos or getting specific about portion sizes or thoughts or lies. You will not be gaining anything more from me.
I won’t be having any further contact with you either. I am happy to have contact with your victims, to draw them out of your clutches until they are no longer victims, but you can Get. Stuffed.
I would use the F word but it’s too good for you.
PS I eat ice cream and drink milk shakes. All the time. Suck on that futhermucker.