I loved your spontaneity, your joy of life. You were a passionate artistic soul and you were really pretty and smart. I was so sure of that. I’ve been trying to encourage you to try new things, to learn, to believe in yourself. Because I believed in you.
I can’t remember the first time when I thought there was something wrong with you. Maybe we were teenagers then, or maybe it started earlier. Maybe it was that moment when someone called you fat and I was embarrassed by just being with you. Or maybe when you cried again and I understood that you were weak. Or maybe I just started to compare you with other people – smarter, healthier, prettier. The fact is that, step by step, I started to hate you. I know that it is a really strong word, but that’s true. I hated your voice, your chubby belly, your small breasts and big tights. All I was seeing in that time was a weird puzzle of defects. I could see a person that no one would ever love, so I stopped loving you too.
Not only stopped. I started being cruel. You know, like those mean girls who bully the weaker ones? To you I was a person like that, I admit. I used to tell you awful things and you listened. When you started losing weight I told you that it was not enough, even when your BMI was too low. I depreciated your successes all the way, your relationships, your whole self. I hurt you badly, even seeing your tears and blood. I should have hugged you; instead I chose the other way.
I am so sorry, girl. I am the only person who should love you unconditionally. Now I’m learning to love you again, every single day. I see your beautiful smile, your great waist and your bust that looks really nice in a fine bra. You are smart and it is great to see you with people who see that. I am so proud of you. You are so much stronger!
This letter is to myself. Because the only person who should love you no matter what, is you yourself. And so often you happen to be a torturer for yourself. The choice is yours.