January of last year I thought the idea

of loving myself was inconceivable.

I was in a black hole, consumed

by the hatred I brought upon myself.

Once, I convinced myself I wasn’t

worth enough to the world to even eat

the food it gave, so I didn’t.

Not only were the growls from my stomach

wrenching, but the emotional toll took

the rest from me. No words in this universe

could script what it’s like to convince yourself

you’re worth less than a piece of dirt

because at least that dirt has reason to exist.

I thought I’d never escape the voice

in my head that whispered horrible things

“You’re so ugly, nobody could ever love you.

Why are you even here?

What makes you think you have a right to live?

You just take up space.”

I wish I could tell my past self that she would

not always feel worthless and she’d believe it.

I know I couldn’t help the past even if I went

back in time and tried to tell myself

what I’d be like in a year because she would

never believe me. But if she could see me now,

she’d be overcome with joy and relief.

Her knees would buckle and she’d cry to the stars

because she finally loves herself and that

is the lightest feeling in the goddamn world.

There’s no dark shadow following her around.

No loud voice telling her she’s worthless;

Even though sometimes that voice tries

to come back and defeat her, she’s strong

enough to fight it off. It’s so much easier

to live life to it’s full potential

when you don’t hate the body that carries you.