Dear Body...

I would like to send you my most heartfelt of apologies for twenty-odd years of almost perpetual self-abuse.

I'm sorry that before I had children I thought you were grotesque. I'm sorry I pinched inches that existed only in my brain. I'm sorry I stood on the scales every day and punished you for being ugly by existing on only apples and soup. I'm sorry that I treated you to hours of sit-ups, barely seeing daylight. I'm sorry my clothes hung off you. I'm sorry I look back now and see the occasional pictures of a fit, healthy, tanned you eating dahl at the roadside in India, leaning against a wall in the South of France, laughing with friends in Italy, squinting into the sun in Portugal, swimming off the coast of Croatia. Moments of health and vitality. I'm sorry that when those photos were developed, I saw a monstrous beast staring back at me, captured forever more, taunting me, shaming me. I'm sorry I didn't see that you were strong and active, nourished, not half bad. I'm sorry that each of those photos triggered a moment of self-abuse, punishment.

I'm also sorry for carving lines into your outer layers. I'm sorry that I wanted to brand you and show everyone how ugly you were, because maybe they couldn't see if for themselves. I'm sorry I enjoyed the pain of slicing at my own skin, the beads of blood providing relief from whatever torment was happening in my brain. I'm sorry I went back to it, again and again and again. I'm sorry that I was proud of it and that even now it threatens to rear its ugly head on the darkest of days. I'm sorry that I ran my hand along the handle of the blade today because anxiety is threatening to consume me.

I'm sorry that I took up running and pushed you to the limit. I'm sorry that I loved feeling faint, that I hankered for the pain in my legs and my hips, that I wanted to hurt you. I'm sorry that I ran through my injuries and didn't know when to stop. I'm sorry I used to get up before dawn to spend hours at the gym before work. I apologise for never thinking you were strong enough, fit enough, lean enough, and for punishing you for it.

I'm sorry that when I was pregnant I ate through the misery, pain, loneliness, fear. I'm sorry that once my babies were born I was broken and unhappy and eating to fill a void. I'm sorry that when I was about to marry the wrong man I abused you until my wedding dress was laughably baggy and I had to eat back into it. I'm sorry that my unhappiness after the wedding meant I ate half a wedding cake, and carried on that binge purge cycle. I'm sorry I fell into the destruction of reward, punishment, reward, punishment, that inevitably became just punishment and more punishment. I'm sorry that I have eaten through my masters to take the edge off the stress and anxiety and fatigue. I'm sorry that I punished you through the heartache of walking away from my husband.

I'm sorry that today has been the worst day I've had in quite a while. I'm sorry that I didn't listen to the friend last week who questioned whether I was having a “wobble”. I'm sorry that I've considered all the ways I can hurt you today and that my jaw aches from clenching it so tightly for fourteen hours. I'm sorry that anxiety is niggling at the edges and is creeping its way in. I'm sorry I can feel my brain shifting to “manic mode”, heart racing, mind crackling, skin tingling in anticipation of what may be on its way. I'm sorry I don't always know how to control it.

I'm sorry I've wasted decades of my life hating you and abusing you and wishing you dead. I hope I can make this better, appreciate your strengths. I want to be grateful that you can swim, run (albeit very slowly at the moment), stay awake on a night shift, “catch” babies, grow two babies of your own and at the same time no less. I need to learn to keep you safe on the bad days and not make you pay the price for my dodgy mental health when the darkness threatens to tumble in... easy!