“I remember pieces of my splintered heart, digging deeper into the soul he ruptured, to begin slaughtering it. My hero, my precious hero.”
“Fat bitch!” Those were the first devastating words to my soul my hero hurled at me about my body. The words I never wanted to hear described to me by the man I loved more than anything in the world. The man who claimed to love me more than his own life. The man who got down on bended knee with hardware placed inside of him by a team of surgeons in a Texas hospital, after he crashed the vehicle he robbed in a booze and drug filled stupor to ask me to marry him. And, I said yes; yes, to the only man I ever wanted to take that stroll with. I remember pieces of my splintered heart, digging deeper into the soul he ruptured, to begin slaughtering it.
Recently I shared how my eating disorder and self-hatred for my body began in an article for Blogcritics, The Vicious Cycle of Eating Disorders and Body-Shaming, Part 1. Here is an excerpt of my article.
I was nine years old when my eating disorder started. It started in January in Bay Shore, New York. It was the day my uncle, a Westchester County Police Officer put his hands and mouth on me. I was in the kitchen making Campbell’s Vegetable Soup to have with my cheese and salami sandwich. It was the last time there was ever a “normal relationship” between me and eating. I remember when he was done I ran into the bathroom, locked the door, grabbed a towel from the closet and puked. I was in too much shock to cry.
Copyright © 2016 by Diane Morasco