I stand in front of the mirror that I threw aside last night.
I see the broken glass shattered in the corner of the frame.
I look at my ribs and my pale face is bleached with fright.
The only thing I can think is 'who can I blame?'
Not myself, no.
It can't be my fault?
You wouldn't do that to yourself.

I see a plate full of food.
I try to finish, otherwise that's rude!
What do I really care about? My well-being or someone else's?
Oh shut up! You are just being selfish!

I can't eat this much, I might be sick,
but I must or I will be sick.
I don't think I can eat anymore.
But you don't understand! You need to eat more.

What I need to do is stop losing this weight.
But it's hard, and I can't concentrate.
this needs to stop before it's too late.
it's me, nobody else who I hate.

It's me. I'm the one who's wrong.
It's me. I see it now.
It's me. This has gone on too long.
It's me. Yes, I will admit
I'm trying to commit.

I'm slowly dissolving, getting smaller.
And I am getting no fuller.
Sometimes I honestly feel like an animal in a zoo.
Je suis presque disparu.