“My eyes weren’t really joyous, not like theirs. But no one else would be able to tell. Maybe someday I wouldn’t be able to tell either, and my pretense would feel real, real enough for me to forget everything that had ever made me feel sad.”
Juliana shares her struggle with depression, body image, and an eating disorder. Then she tells us how she found hope.
By Juliana Marcelle Crespo
Gloria tried to convince me that Jesus lay dormant in the fibrous sinews holding my muscles and joints in place.
She’d come up to me to tell me this while I was doing arm curls at her husband’s gym.I set down the barbells and turned towards her so I could give her my full attention.
Jesus, Gloria said, was waiting for me to learn the language of the Bible.He wanted for the holy energy in my limbs to awaken.He makes you what you are, she told me, her voice as sweet as an untarnished apple.Her breath smelled like mint mouthwash.Her nails were painted red, and her hair reached all the way down her back.
I nodded and picked up the barbell.I did an arm curl.Then another.I wanted to feel something like that.I wanted to feel, period.
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