I am 19.
When I look at old pictures of me, I cry.   I cry at how pretty I was.  How that girl disappeared.  How I fear I'll never find her again. 
I wipe my tears away only to cry again when I remember how sick I was.  How everyday I had a stomachache.  How if I was awake too long, my stomach would hurt so badly I wanted to curl up and die.  How I worked out when everyone else relaxed, and how eventually I couldn't eat a full meal anymore.  How I spit out every bite behind my napkin.
And I wipe my tears away only to cry again when I remember how my jeans began to fall down.  How I would lie on the ground, admiring the valley between my hips and ribs, and swear nothing was as beautiful.
And I once again, wipe away those tears only to cry again when I remember how fast the weight came back.  How with medicine and depression I became literally twice my size. 
And I look at those old pictures and cry, because, I was so damn beautiful.
 
 
 
