A Letter To My Unborn Child.

(No, I’m not pregnant.)

(No, I’m not pregnant.)

This letter was written on 19 December 2014, after receiving the results from a pelvic ultrasound scan taken to understand whether there would be any fertility-related implications of (what was at that point) a severe and enduring eating disorder. No edits have been made.

Photo by Luma Pimentel on Unsplash

Dear “2 mature”,

I’m talking to you like you can understand me, but you’re too small. That’s the whole problem, isn’t it? You’re too small, I’m too small, everything is too fucking small. And meanwhile this world is obsessed with ‘small’ and the maintenance of ‘shape’ and ‘tone’ and the preference for ‘bone’ over ‘rolls’, as if there was SAFETY in lack of satiety and in SICKNESS. This is what this is — SICKNESS — and do you hear me, world? How dare you tell me i’m beautiful when a body is just a vessel and I am HOLLOW.

I’m sorry for the noise, small one. I’m sorry if it hurt you — sometimes I forget that the more delicate parts of me lie within. On the surface I a…