a letter to my thighs | honest letters #2

Dear left thigh and right thigh,

You two have been kept apart for so long, and I know that now that you spend every waking (and sleeping) hour touching each other, you’re a little uncomfortable. Let me tell you, I’m pretty bloody uncomfortable myself.

I know you resent the lack of the comfy distance between you two. That elusive thigh gap that made you two stay away from each other and made me “skinny” is gone, and my two hands can no longer perfectly fit around one of you. I know that it sucks and I know that it’s partially my fault for spending 30% of my allowance on food before the month even starts. I get it! But I’m not sorry. I’ve been working out, like, loads. Okay. Not loads. Enough. I go to Wits! Everything is a fricken 15 minute walk from everything. I literally make sure that you get exercise every day because we all walk home together. See?

I know that this isn’t satisfying, and that you’d still like to know why you’re stuck together, and the reason is this: estrogen.

Niiiice, Shalom, blame it on the hormones blah blah blah. I am blaming it on the hormones! It’s their fault! I’m sorry for not consulting with you before I started this birth control, but it was a bit of a split-second-try-to-save-yourself-from-your-body-that-may-be-trying-to-kill-you decision. Hormone regulation isn’t fun. Trust me, I didn’t sacrifice your personal space because hoe is life. Though, if I did, you’d have to shut up and deal. I appreciate that.

I know that you hate the fact that I have to have to unstick you guys and that all the god forsaken chafing is driving you up the wall, but I want you to know that I love you. I mean, maybe I don’t yet, but I’m really trying to.

We’ve been through a lot together. You’ve literally held me up for eighteen and a half years and I’m really grateful for you leg-parts. We’ve made it through ballet and eating disorders and sports politics and running from robbers with guns and dancing on people at parties. This is a change, and maybe you’re making me buy new pants for the first time in six years, but I’m gonna stick this out with you.

Thanks for being part of me.

love and light,
shalom xo

to the one who broke my heart | honest letters #1

A friend of mine is posting a series of twenty-two honest letters to people in his life. I find the idea extremely brave, honestly, and I also really need to say what I need to say to some people, regardless of whether they can appreciate it or not. So. Here are some honest letters. Shall we?

Oh, love.

I remember falling in love with you hard and fast and with every part of myself. You are still the happiest time of my life so far. I remember longing to be with you when you left to get water, and I remember sitting in your lap hoping that I’d always get to see you looking at something from under your eyelashes. I remember the way that you thought your hands were too coarse to be good to hold, and I remember the silly half-mouthed kiss you gave me when I told you that I thought they were lovely. They are lovely.

I know you didn’t break it on purpose. I know. It was more of a civilian casualty: things were flying everywhere and decisions had to be made and the tornado that is my head didn’t help your balance either – and then you dropped it. It broke into three pieces that I broke further. With every drunk text and every “I just miss you” and every textpost and every “Just, call me if you miss me back, okay?” I dropped what was left. I shattered the fragments that you unintentionally left behind, and dissolved the rest of it in alcohol and tears and sweat.

I’ve come a long way from being the living embodiment of Tove Lo’s Stay High. I do miss you, still. I miss singing for you, and arguing about breakfast. You know this.

You know that I love you. You know that I always will.

You know that I have no sense of self preservation, and that if you came back with a piece of the broken heart that I left you with, I’d be on my hands and knees looking for fragments that had been missing for a year or three; that I’d dedicate myself to drawing up equations concerning where I can find exactly what we’d lost; that I’d cut myself down to size, again and again and again.

You know.

I can’t do that, though. I miss you, but differently now. The only science I was good at was our chemistry, and we both know that an attempt at complex mathematics would be better suited to you. You’re not too into maths, though.

I’m sorry about how things turned out. I’m sorry that nothing ended like we hoped; with off white walls and early morning espressos. I miss you indefinitely. I love you. I’m sorry that we’re finished, but we are. I know that now. My drunk heart knows it now. The pages of my journal know it. The Internet knows now, and so do you.

Stay well, and take constant care of yourself.

love and light,
shalom xo