I’m sorry that I still don’t love you.
I’m sorry that sometimes I can’t bear to look at you. As summer approaches, and everyone shows more skin, it makes me wonder what everyone else thinks of you. I’m worried they’ll laugh and point, or snigger at the roundness of your belly or the jiggle of your thighs. So I hide you away as much as I can.
I’m sorry that sometimes I scratch and scar your wrists, and also your hips. It makes me feel powerful, as if I can scratch away the fat. Like I can control what the others think of you.
I’m sorry that I hate the look of your arms in photos. It doesn’t matter how many weights I make you lift, I can’t escape feeling fat and weak.
Sometimes I think I am beginning to love you. When the sunshine makes my curls shine golden in the wind, and wearing floral dresses lifts my mood. Sometimes I can expose your legs to the world, wearing a summer dress without a care in the world, loving the feel of the sun upon your skin.
Sometimes I can even gaze at you in the mirror, smiling at the look of your legs after cycling, or seeing how my eyeliner matches the brown colours of your hair.
Days when I can look at you are the times I long to remain in. But it’s not always as simple as that.
Although my head forces insults and harsh comments upon you, I am doing my best to reduce this hurt. The darkness that returns again and again to shroud my love for you can be emotionally exhausting. It can make my head spin and sometimes everything else seems pointless when I can’t make you smaller and thinner.
But I want you to know that I care about you, even when it doesn’t seem like it. And I am doing my best to fight through this for you. You deserve a better relationship with your owner than a hateful one like this.