First, Ourselves

Sylvia Plath said, I eat men like air. If only oxygen burned that sweet. I didn't eat them, I choked on them. Men are elusive, one text away from changing the dynamic of your relationship.

Let's be friends, they say. Or, I'm seeing someone else. Words that seep into bandaids, words as cutting as knife on stone.

It's important to remember - god, I hate saying that in my writing, completely redudant if the point is made well - that we need to practice self love. These men come and go, but you: you are forever existing in the universe you call home, the lighthouse that stays on forever as you breathe.

It's hard to let go, find the space in yourself to say, I'm okay.

The scales I used to worship, the dieting, the mental subterfuge - it all led to hell. I existed in a torture vacuum, one where men defined who I was. If I was in a relationship, as tenuous as it was (and it always was(, I was whole. As whole as an orange, ripe and sweet as you tear off the skin.

Self love takes many forms, starting with self care. Hot baths, chocolate cake, yoga. Perhaps these are all things we do on Valentine's Day, the day of the year celebrating social media posts of two month anniversaries. It's imporant to remember (again, the redundancy(, that you profit from a fulfilling, intimate relationship with yourself first.

They say that you have to love yourself before you can love anyone else. I don't think this is true, but the sentiment exists, as fully as you and me, unlike any text message sent across the barriers we should separate from.