I've hated you
I've hated you with every fibre of my being
With every stretch mark
With every roll of your stomach
With your big feet
Thin lips
Big hips

With your not quite straight, but still not curly hair
Large hands
Square face
Not green-enough-eyes
And your stupid up-turnt, crooked nose.

I've hated you.

So much.

I've hated the ever changing landscape of you - the growing hills and valleys of your curves. The oceans of tears you have drawn from always being "never good enough".

I've hated the way you've made me feel
every time I've been made aware of the subtle differences in how my jeans fit.
The way you forced me to look longingly back to a previous edition, wishing I had cherished it more while it was still there.

I've hated how you've made me regret not loving you enough while I still had you, unchanged.

I've hated how you and I have lived in a never ending spiral of déjà-vu. Constantly repeating patterns of self hatred - never learning from history.
At always trying to get back at each other.
At me for trying to stop eating regular food in order to undo the changes you've put me through, at you for stubbornly refusing to do as I wanted.
At me for always giving in to hunger, and sadness, and desperation, and at you for stealing all of the foods I put back into you, for "safe keeping".
At you for holding these carbs hostage as you kept growing your empire, wishing that if you were big enough, I would appreciate the greatness of you - like how Rome was appreciated, awed and feared for it's expansion.
At me for failing to realise that you've only tried to be good to me.

But just like Rome wasn't built in one day, my change has been slow. Not like the quick tsunami of erratic change you've gone through.

I've seen the angry stretch marks fade
I've hugged the rolls on your stomach, kneaded them and accepted them.
I've looked at your feet and cherished the feel of sand beneath them.
I've framed your lips in rebel red colours, so the world could not miss them even if it tried.
And I've swayed your hips on the dance floor, unashamed of how my jeans hugged them.

And even if I, at least 40 percent of the time, forget the reasons I hated you, with my new found rebellious self-love-that-maybe-could-become-truth-if-I-just-wish-it-enough, I find myself falling back to old patterns on a regular basis.

But thanks to my new found rebellious self-love-that-maybe-could-become-truth-if-i-just-wish-it-enough, I've come to terms with the fact that...
It's not you...
It's me.

But before we go any further, know this; this is not an ode to my ever changing ex-body. I am not breaking up with you, so hear me out.

It's my fault for never having thought you were good enough. For me not appreciating you in every form you've taken, to the point that you felt that you've had to protect yourself from me; by, for example, holding food hostage.

And I am sorry that I've looked in the mirror searching for every thing that I've wanted to change.
That I've, with medical expertise, picked you apart with the razor sharp edge of my gaze.
That I've pinched, punched, and hid parts of you.
That I still, sometimes, pinch, punch and hide parts of you.
That a lot of your changes have actually come from me - for putting you, and me, through periods of unrelenting stress where we barely sleep, eat, or go outside to just breathe.

And yet, you've kept me alive for months on three hours of sleep, sugar, and stale air.

So now, my ever changing body.
I cannot promise that I will be better at anything.
I will probably still stress a lot, sleep way too little, eat way too much candy, and breath way too much stale air.
And I will probably still forget myself, and punish you for just trying to survive.

But I will promise you to hug you.
To continue to frame your lips in rebel red, and to sway your hips unashamed of the way my jeans hug them.
Maybe I will even make a collage of your ever changing landscape, just to remind myself that we've been through so much together, and that you deserve so much more than constantly repeating patterns of self hatred.

So,
To my ever changing body.
To all versions of you,
and all versions yet to come.
To us.