Strong.

Strong. To me, this simple word is more than just five characters. In my life, “strong” is a state of mind, an impetus to keep moving forward even when everything seems to fall apart.

I was thirteen years old when my friend Buli Mia corrupted me. She became essential to my identity, an unrelenting force. Buli whispered lies of inadequacy into my heart and gripped my soul with her iron fist. Pretty soon, she invited Ana Rexia to assist in her conquest. Every aspect of my life was dictated by their desires. Calories were our worst enemy, even more so than mirrors.

Years later, I awoke pale and fragile. My skin was sallow and my heart broken. Kicking and screaming, my loving mother dragged me to the doctor, whom she hoped would send me a wake up call. I was told I would die if Ana and Buli did not leave me alone. The weight of my friends’ destruction hit me like a tidal wave. I realized just how broken and lost I truly had become. I was a  broken, beautiful soul.

Miserable and alone, I willed my friends to leave me alone. I could not bear the weight of their subtle ploys any longer. I could not face my sin with a smile. Curled in a fetal position on my massive bed, feeling my protruding bones, I made a decision. I would no longer let Ana and Buli into my life. I would try my hardest to shut out their sweet whispers of desire. I would stand firmly in the truths of who I am, and refuse to stop fighting until I had gained every ounce of my broken identity back. I would never let the lies of others dictate whom I had become.

Now, I am determined to never allow these enemies into my life. Every day is a struggle, every meal a miracle. But I will celebrate each individual triumph. I have “strong” permanently inked into my skin as a representation of what I have overcome. Whenever obstacles stand in my way, I remember my resolution made in the wake of my sinful self. I will stand strong, suck the marrow out of life, and allow freedom access into my soul. I will win.