For Bible we had to make a mask that shows our external and internal self, and write an essay explaining it. My mask is currently drying so I’ll post pics tomorrow probably, but here’s the essay if anyone is curious. o3o
TW: eating disorder, fatphobia, self-harm, suicidal thoughts, trauma
When I was 8, I was told that the size of my waist outweighed the size of my brain– in more ways than one.
When I was 9, I learned the importance of numbers. The digits on the scale, the score on the test; these were my biography.
When I was 10, the library was my castle. Shelves formed impenetrable walls, embedded with undiscovered delusions of a fantastical caliber to keep me from the predators of the playground.
When I was 11, two months were passed in a small Californian town– in an isolated world built solely to trim us down. This would be the first of three such summers.
When I was 12, one month was endured in Canada, an identical universe to the prior year. The only difference was the climate; this foreign dormitory housed my first panic attack.
When I was 13, sticks and stones did not break my bones, but his words cut deeper than the razor I touched for the first time.
When I was 14, my brain remained frozen in time. God was dead, while Agoraphobia and Insomnia were but two of many new friends that visited me daily. For the third time I was sent away, this time to return to California. I withered in all respects, returning forty pounds and emotions lighter.
When I was 15, my parents sent me to Everett once each week in hopes to fix me; they knew not the cause of my problems. The doctor blamed me.
When I was 16, my ceiling was all I saw for one week. A month later, I hoped my ceiling would be the last thing I saw– I didn’t anticipate the following week of stomach pains and nausea.
When I was 17, diagnoses were made; a human receipt was made of me, marked from top to bottom with ailments. As many as ten prescriptions made their way into my body each day, and I mindlessly popped pills like tic-tacs.
Now I am 18. The goal is an outlying paradise, the starting line a distant memory. I am somewhere in the middle, so it seems, but “I don’t need a telescope to see that there’s hope and that makes me feel brave.” -Adam Young