Dear sausage, egg and cheese my dad brought home for me on my 16th birthday,
I bet you're probably wondering what you did wrong. I'd eaten you every birthday prior, you deserve an explanation. I loved you, the tradition, your taste, but the chart the doctor showed me at my appointment said I was overweight for my height, so I needed to cut back. I didn't mean it when I told my dad I didn't like you anymore, I was hoping you wouldn't have to hear that. It wasn't personal, please understand.
Turkey and mayo sandwich I threw out during 5th period lunch in 8th grade, I hope you've come to peace with what I've done to you. It's just that Dony called me "thunder thighs" in the hallway after math. I knew I shouldn't have worn those jeans. Listen, it's not your fault, but I knew if I left you in my bag the lunch lady would ask why I wasn't eating.
My beloved chicken parm from Uncle Joe's retirement party, you're probably covering your ears right now. I know, I wouldn't want to talk to me either. I played you, I'm sorry. You didn't deserve to end up in the toilet. You trusted me and I let you down. It's just that all the girls had size three graduation dresses and mine was a size five. I thought about just cutting the tag off but what if they noticed? You were delicious, believe me, don't ever think otherwise.
To the notebook filled with calorie counts and logs, I know you had higher expectations of yourself. I know when I opened you up for the first time you were anticipating pages of knowledge, homework, maybe even some mediocre poems. Instead, you got my preconceived idea that being skinny would solve everything. There was nothing you could do about it and every time I read you, every time I recorded my weight, was eligible proof that I had fallen victim to the stigma of believing that “thin defined beauty.” I bet you feel embarrassed. I bet you pray no one stumbles across your pages. I bet you're relieved I titled you "Global History."
On that note, Dr. F. did you really believe me? Did you really believe that I ate that turkey burger and skipped that run? When you asked me for the second time if I was telling the truth I didn't need you to believe me. No. I needed you to tell me I was lying. I needed you to look me in the eyes and tell me you weren't fooled. I needed you to tell me you aren't going to "take my word for it." But you did, didn't you? You said you believed me, Dr. F. I don't mean to offend you, but I've never eaten a turkey burger in my life.
To this day, every time I hear someone say "I'm not in the mood," every time I watch someone frown in the dressing room mirror, my heart remains broken. When teenagers are skipping their birthday breakfast and thin is their sole depiction of beauty, society is broken. I regret every meal I've ever skipped, every excuse I've ever made, every page I’ve ever wasted, because as I apologize to the food I never ate I apologize to the me I never believed in.
