093

the only way for me to get through a meal is to distract myself with derailed thoughts, masochistic fantasies of suicide and pain, the only things i feel deserving of anymore. bite, if this meal puts me over the edge i can end everything. bite, i don’t have to stay on this earth. bite, it’s my choice, it’s up to me whether i live or die. bite, nobody can keep me here against my will. bite, chew, i deserve all the pain i put myself through. swallow.

i need my eating disorder, don't want to get better and lose it. it's like a stronger person inside me, it makes all the tough decisions, calls all the shots. i can accept its harsh criticisms and impossible demands because they're all true and i don't deserve anything better. it's not all bad, my eating disorder, it treats me badly but is capable of loving me, when my stomach is empty and my head throbs upon standing and i begin to black out. these are the times when my eating disorder is kind, when i stand in the mirror and see my ribs and my hipbones, the compliments mean something because they are so hard to earn. they don't wash away like the compliments of somebody who just wants to make a friend. the only acceptance i want is the acceptance i have to suffer in order to attain.




i have a pulse but i'm not alive

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