Anger, turmoil, pain, grief, deep sorrow, trauma, anger, turned on oneself as the only alternative for an outlet. What is it for me? Defiance.
“Don’t dare tell me not to hurt myself, I have just as much right as you do” she snarled from the corner of the room.
She was beaten down, broken so badly, sitting in the corner with her back against the wall. That man that sat with her didn’t know what to do. He looked for a way to grab her, but then thought better of that. If out of defiance she goes, let her. He looked away, giving silent permission, acknowledgment that she had as much right as anyone else to hurt her. Tears in his eyes because he knows the only chance she will ever stop is if he tells her it is ok.
It is my choice to love my body. It is my choice to define my body. It is my choice to feed my body, hydrate my body, work my body. It is my choice to care for my body. It is my home, it is my choice to make it comfortable. It is my choice to love my body, my self.