Some days I think my mother wants to hate me more than she wants to love me. It feels like most days she finds more flaws than I knew were possible. My sister and I were the rough drafts before she perfected her work and gave birth to our brother. When I came out to her she asked why it took me so long to do it, how do you look at the person that’s supposed to love you unconditionally and say you didn’t want another nail in your coffin, another tally mark on the board of all of your **** ups. Every time I eat something I hear her voice at the back of my head telling me I should stop. I’ve never dined alone, my whole life my mothers voice has joined me when the slightest thought of food has crossed my mind. I have spent more days than I can count wishing I had the self control to starve myself. How do you say that out loud? How do you make the words slip off your tongue to anyone without them thinking you’re a lost cause. I think about dying like I think about skipping my next meal. It’s never set in stone, there’s no contract binding my thoughts to my actions but it’s always at the back of my head. A wailing ghost haunting my brain just waiting for the day that we actually go through with something when we first think of it.

They think I'm recovered, that's what they said
But there's still a constant battle inside my head
It would be so much easier to stay in my bed
And go a week without being fed
And let my arms drip with red
Or I could totally give up instead
Would people really miss me if I was dead?
Of course they would miss you, they really do care
You might feel alone but you've got people there
You need to stay positive when life is unfair
Just think of that outfit you wanted to wear
The summer breeze that goes through your hair
The smell of flowers drifting through the air
And watching the sunset through the trees over there

If I had a heart – which I don't
And it were to beat faster than usual – which it wouldn't
The reason certainly couldn't be you
Not your skin
Not your warmth
Not your kisses

If I was going to smile – which I won't
And my stomach was talking – which it couldn't
The reason certainly wouldn't be you
Not your skin
Not your warmth
Not your kisses