Listen to the whispers that curl into your head at night, calling you ugly and fat and stupid and bitch and whore and worst of all, "a disappointment." Puke and starve and cut and drink because you don't want to feel any of this. Puke and starve and drink and cut because you need the anesthetic and it works. For a while. But then the anesthetic turns into poison and by then it's too late because you are mainlining it now, straight into your soul. It is rotting you and you can't stop.

Look in a mirror and find a ghost. Hear every heartbeat scream that everysinglething is wrong with you.

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Three Cheers for Five Years.

Decent day. Didn't eat as little as I wanted to. Didn't binge. I hate myself.
Boyfriend hates me. Hates my disorders. Hates the fact that my head doesn't work the way it should.
Can't see how much of a blessing he is to me.
In pain. I don't know what to do.
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