I want to say thank you before I say goodbye. So thank you. For holding my uncertainty and giving me something tangible to look at and feel some sense of control. Thank you for holding me through anxiety and fear.
You’ve held this body shaking and crying at weight gain. You’ve held this body in celebration of weight loss. I wish you could have told me that none of it ever mattered. None of it matters. Instead, you told me my relationship to gravity time and time again. I wish I could have those moments of intense sorrow—and even the joyful ones—back. To think of all I’d be able to do with that time and energy.
Scale, I’m horrified to live without you. I know the qualms about my weight will be there for a while. And I’m mad at you for that. It didn’t have to be this way. You gave me a false sense of reliability and ease. Now I can’t imagine existing without you. But I must.
Today, I broke you into a million pieces, symbolic of how you’ve shattered my life these past ten years. I know now that I don’t need to know my weight, and I hope I never have to again. I hope I can get to a place where I don’t want to know. But for now, it’s enough to know that you and I don’t exist as one anymore.
No longer yours,