guilt

‘He said, ‘You can look like a wholesome American beauty, or you can look weird and androgynous. We want to wipe all of the wholesomeness out of you.’

“I started counting every calorie, I ignored my hunger, and I’d work out without eating much or anything after. I’d weigh myself whenever I could sneak into my parent’s bathroom. The scale dictated my happiness, the size of my clothes measured my worth. Hopefully I can sustain this starving myself thing for the next ten-ish years, I’d think to myself.”

‘I threw my baby in a dumpster. No goodbyes, no tears.’

“My hands shook as I grabbed a Dixie cup and gently scooped this little piece of flesh, my heart, my blood, from its watery grave. A moment later, I left the bathroom. My little burden wrapped in paper towels, and put it in my purse.”

‘Am I ever going to walk again? Will I survive this?’ I couldn’t see it coming or avoid it. I never saw the man who did it. I just felt the shattering vibration in my leg and collapsed.’

“There was no fight, no scuffle. Just bone-crushing shock. For years, I imagined him as every man I saw – walking down the street, opening my office door, pushing through a crowd. Every victim I heard about on the news was me – helpless and broken – life as they knew it taken from them in one moment.”

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