LUCKY ME

She insisted, "You've got the figure of a supermodel!" No, I don't. "But, you're so tiny and perfect!" 

Tiny? Yes. Perfect? Hardly. So you want what I have? Well, first we'll have to kick in your chest. Smash your heart and lungs. Carve scars across your ribs. Break and reshape your breastbone so that it hurts to sneeze for the rest of your life. Just a little. Straighten the natural curve out of your spine so you can never get your posture right, no matter what you do. But just think, you'll look so thin and perfect! You can walk around with your head held high knowing you're the envy of other girls! Just like you envied me.

I hate it when she says to me, "You're so lucky!" You're right, I AM lucky. Lucky that I can walk up a flight of stairs and not be winded. Lucky that I can finally run more than a few yards. Lucky that I don't pass out every day like I used to. Lucky my surgeon didn't retire before I found him. Lucky my heart won't give out at 45 from beating too fast. Lucky I learned the precious value of health early so I can take care of my body. 

I spent every day of my young life wishing I had a body like hers. A body that worked. Lungs with room to fill with air. A heart that beat the way it was supposed to. Ribs that were strong and round and protected all the delicate organs mine crushed. So stop telling me I'm lucky because it's an insult. You'll never understand how lucky I truly am. Normal bitch.