I was six years-old the first time I was called "fat" on the playground. Technically, it was "hamburger," but I've never really been one to mince words.
I was 7 years-old the first time I heard someone tell me, "I don't want to be your friend anymore." The first time my being a "hamburger" excluded me from being in their club, going to their party, being seen with them.
I was 9 years-old when I first thought that maybe... just maybe... food could be my enemy.
I was 11 years-old the first time I realized that I could decide to be happy.
12 years-old when I found out I could be strong if I needed.
I was 13 years-old when I had to tell my parents that my grandfather had molested my baby sister.
13 when I decided that "strong" was all I would allow myself to be.
13 the first day that I decided not to eat.
13 when God took me to Isaiah 51 and told me "The cowering prisoner will soon be set free. They will not die in their dungeon..." 13 when I just barely knew what that meant.
I was 14 when I had my first "love," and subsequently my first heart break.
I was 14 when I moved from my first real home.
I was 15 the first time I cut myself with a kitchen knife. 15 the first, second, third, fourth, fifth time I swore I would stop.
I was 16 the first time I told someone "I think I'm going crazy." 16 the first time they looked at me and said, "No... you're just fighting a battle, and you're going at it the wrong way."
I was 17 the last time my pain left a visible scar. 17 when I started killing myself slowly. 17 when I was "90 pounds down, only 25 to go." 17 when I couldn't possibly be good enough.
I was 18 years old when I decided I preferred caffeine and pain killers over sleep and food.
19 when all of my mental plans to marry that one guy fell through.
19 when I wept and cursed the number 14, because it was on all of my jeans again and if I could just be skin and bones then maybe I could finally disappear.
I was 20 years-old when I really met up with God again, this time in the conference room of a Days Inn.
20 when I finally forgave.
20 when I was healed... OCD, Depression, Eating Disorder, my broken and beaten and starved-for-love heart.
20 when this cowering prisoner was finally set free.
Ten years ago, I sat in the dining hall of a Christian camp. A man my father's age sat with me. It was April, and I had no idea... I had...
God makes me giggle sometimes. "No girl should feel she has to trade her body for love or be an old maid"
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