A place just for me, you see.
I can hid there and never be seen.
In this place I typically don't cry.
I am the real me, no need to cut me ear to ear just to see a smile here.
You see dear, if I ever were to tell you what I imagine here you'd have me sent away.
Would you like a little insight?
Shhh, don't tell of these words.
I think of taking the blade that sits there in the corner and slicing my wrists.
Letting the blood drip.
I find it fascinating to hold my hand up, like I could just grab a star.
But then the reality is, I am only holding my arm up to let the blood run down it.  
I let it pour out.
Its no longer a drop or two,
I've grown out of that faze.
I like thinking of the acetaminophen sitting just 4 inches away.
I reach for it, it rubs against my finger tips
I can't grasp it,
palms too sweaty and hands too shaky.
I finally get it into my reach.
I reach in with my ****** index and pointer fingers,
I get out just two pills.
It is just a start I tell myself, just enough for a deep sleep.
But then I remember I never want to be woken up.
I swallow the two pills and pick up the blade again.
I carve "victim" into my thigh,
that's what I was my whole life.
I get some blood on my fingers,
I am aware I have only a few minutes before I become dizzy.
I start writing my suicide note to my family.
I am writing it my blood.
Maybe I could have left something more beautiful,
imagine not being able to find your daughter but when you did she was in a puddle of blood with ****** writing surrounding where she lays, limp and cold.
I reach for the bottle of acetaminophen.
I need more, lots more, to reach my desired amount of sleep.
I pour the bottle on my hands, one pill falls, then two, then three.
I eventually lost count.
I careful place each and every pill on my tongue.
I let each one represent everything bad I have been called, and everything bad i've been forced into.
I step closer to my deep sleep.
I feel the ***** coming up my throat,
Like the demons crawling up  my insides.
I ***** up water, I haven't eaten in days.
I *****, and then curl up into a ball,
I am surrounded by my own blood.
I'm slipping away,
I can feel it.
Good night, I whisper.
*H.T

I am a good moral,
yet so incompetent.
I am concerned with others well being,
but have no will to help myself.
I know what is right,
I know what is wrong.
I know what I love,
I know what I despise.
I know the next step,
but refuse to go on.
I know what I crave,
I won't go and get it.
I know my life story,
but refuse to share it.
*H.T

Skinny. Fat.
Tall. Short.
Quiet. Loud.
Sweet. Evil.
Innocent. Monstrosity.

These preconceived notions of who we ought to be. They’re lies and they are circling my brain, running through my veins.

They tell me immaculacy isn’t the way to be. But if I am caressed just one time, the corner on the street is where I should be.

I am just shy of 100 pounds, my body screams anorexic and you all point and gasp. But a mere one hundred twenty five makes me obese.

They tell me to be myself and exclaim that I shall not be judged. I wear my tall socks, skirts, beanies, sneakers; the things I picked out but then I have no style, I am just an ugly freak.

I keep my lips sealed in class, I am afraid of the judgemental looks and comments I may get. I keep to myself but to them I am a loner, just a freak. But if I talk too much, If I speak a subtly sentence  I am annoying and highly obnoxious.

I am told I do not need make up but when I don’t wear any people say I look different. More tired like, practically sickly. If I do wear makeup I look like a cake face, fake but in an odd way slightly more beautiful. More respectful.

Societies one you can not please. If you listen or you don’t, you are always doing something wrong. Do you. Who cares about the rest. You’ll never be who they want you to be.

"Pass me a shroom, give me the ****, hit up the ******, tap on the alcohol, and trip out on acid." That's what they all say in this world; that's how they get their high. But for you; I see it in your eyes Haley. You get a different high. No, you're not high on living life. You are high on trying to figure out how to life life. You hurt and I see that. You take away calories to increase your happiness. Some add more **** to there needle to increase their happiness. Whether you are taking or adding; you are hurting. What was your gateway? Was it the scale? The girl in the magazine sitting on the shelf? How about the "pretty, skinny girls" in bikinis at the beach? Like everything bad in life there is always a start to it. Some become a drug addict by smoking a cigarette; "oh, ill just do it once". Was it that way with you Haley? Just one less helping of the side that was for dinner, just one less snack, just one less meal. We always have false realizations for our self and it ***** we discover them in such a bad way. Did you enjoy the control that you could and can have over food? "They can't make me eat any more than i want do". Druggies like the lose of control too. They feel at ease with themselves in the moment and maybe the next few days; maybe you did too Haley. Druggies have close friends they smoke around, they don't dare let in newbies. I heard of your friend, Ana. She sounds like a scary person; yet you are aspiring to be her. Haley, you've got so much more to give and experience then these foul emotions. With all things in life there must be an end; this is your time to start a new chapter. Learn to live without your addicting. You can do it. 1 in ever 200 women have an eating disorder; 1 in every 300 are addicted to drugs. You can beat this.

L-Logical; you've always been level headed and very smart. Every since I first met you, you have been able to apply logic to almost every situation.
O-Omniana; totally explains our friendship. Our friendship is filled with random things, random memories and random experiences.
V- Vivacious; you are so lively. The time I spend with you, weather it be Skype or phone call, it is never dull.
E-Exquisite; those words you speak, they're oh so beautiful. Your voice is my lullaby.
L-Logophile; a lover of words. Really that's all we can be. It is our only form of communication.
Y*-Yerk; drawing tight or to bind. We've been bound by the phone lines in the sky. They must carry so many messages everyday. Back and forth; from me to you.
H.T