I don’t like you.

In fact, from the moment I was old enough to process the idea that there was a “right” way to look, I have noticed that you did not fit that description. You are not long and lean and you definitely have a number of marks, scars and other imperfections that have left me internally screaming. For that reason, I have hated both of us — you for not fitting into that specific image and me for not loving you regardless. Instead, I fill both of us with false hopes of getting healthier. That everything will change. That I will take care of you in the way that you should be cared for. I fill my thoughts with all the things that I could do in order to make you better, and yet I fail to appreciate the things that already make you great.

And for that, I am sorry.

Every time I look in the mirror, those little voices inside my head fill my thoughts with images of what we should look like, and at how disgusting it is that I haven’t done anything to fix it. I poke and prod at you, pulling my skin tighter and thinking about how much better I would look if my love handles weren’t so big or if my thighs didn’t touch. I continue looking at you, noticing the light amount of acne sprinkled across your skin, the small stretch marks that stick out on that pale, uneven complexion. I drown us both in makeup and chemicals. I will admit to looking into plastic surgery more than once in the hopes of making you “more beautiful.” I am sorry for putting you through this. I am sorry for abusing you in my attempts to fill an impossible societal norm. I am sorry for not appreciating the things that you have already given me, and for not taking those times in front of the mirror to appreciate our eyes or our smile.

I apologize for the never-ending hate, and how much it hurt you.

While I struggled to continue to fill you, you held on and kept me going. I am sorry for the many late nights spent imagining how much better life would be if you looked the way I believe you should, when all you truly needed at that time was sleep. I apologize for not getting out of bed while you cried out for me to move. I am sorry that I did not respect you in the way that you needed me to and that I brushed it off whenever someone told both of us how beautiful you are. I am sorry that as soon as we were alone, I would tell you how wrong that person was, listing off all of the things that I hated. Things that you should hate as well. I apologize for not recognizing your strength.

You are there, and always will be regardless of the abuse I have inflicted upon you. The shape of you, as well as the scars and other marks I see as imperfections, reflect where we have been in life. It shows how far both of us have come. And, although I may not like how you look, I am happy that no one else has you. You motivate me to do better, pushing me to take care of myself while showing me your resilience. I may not be perfect, but you seem to believe that I am. I'd like to thank you for allowing me to cry, and for not judging me because of those tears. For not breaking under my pressure. I have continuously taken from you without giving you my thanks. However, I have one more request: please be patient, as I continue to learn to love both of us. It will take a long time, as a step forward may throw both of us back many. However, I am trying, and will continue to try for both of us.