It should have just been a cupcake. But it is so much more than that. Moist, vanilla, with clouds of fluffy frosting, and sprinkles scattered across the top. The frosting is pink; pink like too-bright lipstick, pink like roses, pink like blushing cheeks. The sprinkles are multi-coloured. Scrumptious, delectable, enticing—an explosion of sweetness. That malicious cupcake hollered demandingly, “EAT ME, EAT ME.” But I did not yield. Everywhere I looked, various objects seemed to morph into cupcakes. But I did not indulge myself. Veggies, whole grains, and lean protein for me, please.

I now know that my body is a fragile instrument, the result of love and grace. Even though I once abused it, layering my bones with fat, clogging my arteries, stretching my skin, I don’t anymore. It is mine, and only mine, to be handled with only the utmost compassion and tender care. Yes, my journey was arduous and this epiphany did not come easily. But now I know.
And even now, I still have a long, twisty road upon which to travel. In front of me stands several mountainous terrains to cross.

Numerous battles will present themselves in the future. But, when I informed that cupcake that no, I will not be needing your services, thank you, I am saying hello to healthy. My mood less irritable, my slumber is more restful, each day more meaningful, when healthy is my friend. My body slowly reduces, my confidence slowly increases. New possibilities, fresh as Farmer’s Market peaches, arrive, awakened from a deep sleep.

Each morning, I am awakened to a kaleidoscope of bright options—my life greets new activities. Now that the number on the scale dips lower, lower, lower, I can truly seize the day. I participate in gym class. Miraculously, when I hike through the majestic forest, my heavy breathing does not break the beautiful silence. Insults do not pelt me quite as often.
Yes, new life greets me each morning. One that doesn’t involve that cupcake.

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It should have just been a cupcake. But it is so much more than that. Moist, vanilla, with clouds of fluffy frosting, and sprinkles scattered across the top. The frosting is pink; pink like too-bright lipstick, pink like roses, pink like blushing cheeks. The sprinkles are multi-coloured. Scrumptious, delectable, enticing—an explosion of sweetness. That malicious cupcake hollered demandingly, “EAT ME, EAT ME.” But I did not yield. Everywhere I looked, various objects seemed to morph into cupcakes. But I did not indulge myself. Veggies, whole grains, and lean protein for me, please.

Each and every morning, I awake and am confined. Slaving away on the treadmill, I dream of the legions of calories that I’m burning. Stop eating so much; stop eating so much, a voice chants in my head. The ribs protruding from my stomach mean nothing. I. Am. Fat. When I gaze into the mirror, a shudder ripples through me at the hideous, obese creature I see staring blankly back at me. Her pale complexion matches that of a white moon. Her teeth, yellowing. Thin, wispy hair falls to her shoulders, so unlike the deluge of thick locks she once sported. A haunted, hollow expression masks her face. Sometimes, I don’t even recognize her.

As I bury myself, I slowly say goodbye to the life I once new. I hold little interest in my friends. Buried within a deluge of schoolwork, I obsessively study. Many nights are spent staring at the pantry, wishing. Even though I am aware of this, the thought of recovery terrifies me more than the growing beast within me.

Yes, new life greets me each morning. One that doesn’t involve that cupcake.