I was the smallest I have ever been when I was 16 (since puberty, of course). I was horribly depressed, lonely beyond words, convinced that there was something inherantly wrong with me that could not possibly be understood by my peers. I had an undiagnosed panic disorder that left me nearly bedridden, convinced I was dying at least twice a day, and wishing I actually was so I didn't have to feel that horrible fear that plagued every waking moment of my life.
But christ I was beautiful.
I didn't think so at the time. Mostly I was told by adult men, old men. My parent's coworkers, cashiers, my boss. I was told by catcallers, honking horns, the man I called "Uncle". Indirectly, by my father's sudden interest in my body.
It was sick. The comments, the attention, the unwanted touches were disgusting. But I can't help but be agonizingly aware of their absence.
16 fucking hurt. But I miss it so much.
It's hard to explain the longing I have for the person I used to be. Hard to explain how I look back on the time of my life where I was most su!c!dal and feel that was when I had the most worth. I was spiralling, completely untethered, but at the same time I was so in control.
I don't know if I can ever have even a piece of her back. But I long for her so desperately.
