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by Abbey Y
(ON, Canada)

This is a piece that I wrote for the "V-Day" campaign at my university. It's a campaign that raises awareness about women's abuse, sexual abuse, sexual prejudice etc. The campaign also encompasses "Vagina Monologues" if you have heard of them.

So the secret! I submitted it and presented it as it I am a "recovered" bulimic, but the truth is I am still "recovering" and I think I always will be. With that being said, it was rather freeing.

My vagina, my stomach and my brain should have a meeting. No, my vagina, my stomach and my brain NEED to have a meeting.

This meeting is to be mediated by my heart, as it mediates all judgments in my life. All three organs are on different levels, they cannot see eye to eye. Speaking of eyes, they should probably take minutes as far too often my brain leaves them blind.

My body in her entirety is a family reunion fueled by moonshine and ancestral competition. Who’s the strongest? My legs always win. The happiest? Why my lips of course. And ambidexterity goes to the hands. But intelligence... to my brain.
My belligerent brain doesn’t understand the concept of filtering speech. Not everyone wants to hear what she has to say. Constantly she takes unconscious thoughts and manifests them into full-blown emotions.

My stomach is the all too eager to please granddaughter of my brain, rejecting any substance my brain deems unfit. Fueled by moonshine made palatable with insecurity, my stomach will clink shot glasses with anyone nearby. Cheers! Di borja! Salut! “OH! Watch out mouth here come the rejections. Sorry to stress you out teeth, your complexion’s a little yellow...”
Meanwhile my loudmouthed, gorgeous vagina is the aunt who wants to run the show. She’s sexy, vociferous, outspoken and most of all confident. My vagina is the type of woman who feels sexier naked then in lingerie. And my vagina, though at times blunt, loves every member of her family as true perfection.

Sometimes my stomach drops to visit her loving aunt, although this only happens when my brain is sleeping or passed out. With that being said, my vagina’s sweet whispers of confidence remove the insecurities from my stomach. Finally my body becomes a temple. A temple of sex, dreams, confidence, radiance. My heart swells and quickens to demonstrate her joy and my stomach dances hand in hand with butterflies. With a shudder my body becomes one unit all the way down to my pointed toes. Finally in agreeance my brain awakes. My vagina has won, but this is not for an eternity. As soon as my body is dressed and in front of a mirror my brain works her cranial deceit. She is extremely intelligent and awfully manipulative. Distorting the eyes is a walk in the park for her, and they will report appearance issues down to my stomach. This causes my heart to pace back and forth and back and forth. This displeases my vagina. My vagina sees my body for her perfection. My vagina needs to win arguments despite sexual desires alone. My vagina values my body, and respects all of its parts. My brain does not.

As I said, my vagina, my stomach and my brain need to have a meeting.

Hope you enjoyed.

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Article by Shaye Boddington
Author of
and creator of The Bulimia Recovery Program and Community

The Bulimia Recovery Program