when you left, i weighed 113 pounds. larger than i thought i had any right being, but healthy enough for my size. i remember asking you again and again, over and over, if i looked okay, if my body was good enough for you, if you were really sure this was the mess you wanted to be seen with for the rest of your life. and every single time, you told me it was. you told me it was perfect, that you loved my curves and stomach, that you preferred the softness i came with. and finally, finally. i was beginning to believe you. a year in, and i finally believed you. i finally believed i looked good enough for you- you, who could never look bad in my eyes, who would forever be my unlikely, muscle-bound wet dream. i finally believed i was worthy of you.
now, i weigh 87 pounds. skinnier than i'd ever been in highschool, even with a well-hidden, acute eating disorder. i eat a meal every few days, if i feel like i should. if i feel worthy of it. when you left, i lost any apetite i'd ever grown from our relationship. you healed me- and then you shattered me, all over again. when you promised you'd never do what you did, when you promised you wouldn't leave me just because it got hard. when you promised me that you would fight for me. you think you're helping me by leaving. but i never could have seen this coming. i never knew you thought you were hurting me. i would have told you you weren't, if i'd known. the only time you're hurting me is now. all i worked to build with you, the months of sobriety, of weight gain, of trying to love myself, now it's gone again. all because i have no idea why you left. maybe i never was worthy. maybe you never really wanted me. maybe i just look like a fool, again, because i'm the one left crying again.
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