A Love Letter To New York City

It's been wonderful and daunting 37 days since I came. I've been dreaming of visiting you since I was a kid and watched movies that take places on the streets of New York City. I've been imagining how it would feel to walk there and see the buildings, smell the air. I always knew I need to come and see you in person, yet I didn't know what to expect. You surprised me, at first you've been treating me like your own.

You smothered me with fluffy blanket and my favorite food. Even on a warm autumn day, your cold gaze left an unforgettable impression on me. You gave me the chills I was looking for. Butterfly not only in my stomach but in my mind. Oh my dearest New York, if only I could be like you. You are so strong and magnificent, holding everyone and everything together so tightly. Even on those hazy days, you are a ray of sunshine that keeps me warm. You provide me with the energy I need to function and occupy my mind, even when it's rainy outside.


You're unpredictable but I don't blame you, I chose this. One day, I woke up and felt as if you were mine, I could walk and feel your energy running through my veins. The other one I don't know what to think or feel, I am tired. The city is always moving, they say it never sleeps and I must say it is true. I feel sick and my feet hurt. As I am trying to relax on my bed I can hear the voices and sirens from the streets. It's noisy and distracting. How can I rest when thinking of you, I have no peace.


I may be in love with you, yet you don’t care at all. So many have fallen for you, and run to you with expectations and dreams. I must say I admire you, how strong you are. You hold everyone on your shoulders and try not to sink. I wish I could be with you, or rather that u could be you.

For my body, I lost my sanity.

In my mind, I am projecting sentences to describe this challenging yet liberating journey. Suddenly, I sit down, place my hands on the keyboard, and I don't know what to write. A million words and thoughts whirl in my mind as I attempt to transport myself back to that period. It makes me want to cry. I begin to recall the first time I realized I had an issue with food. It was a long time ago, back in high school. I realized I perceived food differently than people around me. I felt ashamed to eat in front of others, but I could devour a lot at home. Overeating, followed by drastic denial coupled with fingers down the throat, is a living hell for anyone going through it because it's not a walk; it's a run. An escape. It's a vicious circle that's challenging to break free from.

Every woman's dream is to eat whatever she wants without gaining weight. Well, I don't know if it's every woman's dream, but it was mine. I wanted to eat everything whenever I desired. I think I sought comfort and a certain kind of love in food. However, I didn't find that in it, and all I received in return were regrets. One doesn't realize how quickly they fall into it. Suddenly, my body changed. My mindset was entirely different, and my confidence plummeted so deep it was no longer visible. Every time I looked in the mirror, I wanted to cry. I scrutinized myself from every angle and berated myself. I hated that suddenly, clothing sizes didn't fit me as they used to. I hated food, yet I drowned in it. I covered myself up. It was a feeling of absolute failure and loss of control over myself and my life. However cliché and exaggerated it sounds, it was that way. Weight gain took a toll on my self-esteem. I stopped believing in myself, literally abandoning myself. In my mind, I saw myself ten times worse than I looked. I still remember struggling to fit into size 42 jeans in the fitting room. It broke me. It saddened me, and I went home feeling low.

I didn't tell anyone about it until now. Until this moment. I buried the fact that I despised myself and what's worse, I did nothing about it. Every day, I envisioned starting to exercise and changing my eating habits, but the thought of the long journey terrified me even more. I wanted it instantly. Preferably the next day. But that's not how it works. "What if I don't eat for a few days? That will surely help," crossed my mind several times a day. I wanted change; I longed for it so much, but I didn't know how. Sad, I went to the nearest store after work and bought a pack of sweets, which I devoured at home.


When I reflect on it, I don't even know if I enjoyed it. Maybe I just ate it to fill the emptiness I felt. Every time I overate, I punished myself.


I rushed to the bathroom, trying to push my fingers so deep that everything would come back out. I attempted these desperate acts quite often. Today, I'm glad I failed. They were cries for help from within me. I hadn't listened to myself for so long and had hurt myself. However, sometimes a person has to fall to the very bottom to bounce back. I literally fell. I felt afraid that if I didn't do something, I would never be happy again, and I would never love myself again. That fear began to outweigh my fear of eating or gaining weight.


Sometimes, I still have a bit of fear of it today; it haunts me a little.


I think I may never completely get rid of it. Being afraid to eat has become a natural part of my existence. I wonder if I ate more than I should have. Some days, I'm hungry, and I ask myself why I hurt myself. Why I compare myself to others without realizing that it's just me, and no one else. Imperfect and perfect at the same time. With or without extra pounds. I seek balance between these two worlds. I don't want to overeat and then starve. I want to eat, love myself, and live. Although I still occasionally lose my way, I always find my way back. It's pleasant to look in the mirror and not feel disgust.


Lost confidence has returned to me, which I hadn't been able to find for so long. During this bumpy journey, I realized that it's not about being relentlessly slim, athletic, or about extreme diets or starvation. It's not about what the scale shows us—it's not about that at all. It's about us, our opinion of ourselves. How we feel. The life we choose for ourselves. Our body is with us from the beginning to the end. It's worth loving. To try it and not be afraid. It's a love for a lifetime, and sometimes, we need to fight for it.

Midnight shower

I took a shower. It was past midnight when I felt the unbearable urge to let the water run on my skin. While the water was flowing, I thought of the scene from a certain movie. I imagined myself as the main character in a horror movie, anticipating something ominous about to unfold. It was reminiscent of an old Hitchcock film where the familiar music plays, and you brace yourself for the impending suspense. The room started to spin, and my heartbeat raced like never before. I couldn’t think of a better movie scene, so I am thinking about this one in particular. 

Back to the shower, as I am still standing there, naked, with the water running on my skin. A cold shower is a fantastic way to relieve stress on your nervous system. I love doing that in the morning. At night, I prefer to keep it warm, bringing some heat into my monotonous life. Once the water gets too hot, I begin to reflect on all the mistakes I have made, the love I have yet to find, and my numerous sins. Afterward, I feel tainted and weak. I use the running water as holy water, pretending it washes away all my sins. It feels refreshing, vital. I feel like a newborn child, or at least. I imagine that is what they feel when they’re born. Maybe it is the opposite. Perhaps I have no idea what I am talking about. But in my messy, twisted mind, it seems just like that. shower and thank God for allowing me to cleanse myself.