I am afraid right now.
I have gotten attached.
I have latched onto him,
And I don't know if he has latched onto me.
Scientifically,
When people do these things,
The women are known to develop romantic connections faster.
Which means he might not feel anything for me,
Than my physicality.
I am afraid he will leave me right after this,
Even though he witnessed a breakdown,
Where I went back in time,
Because someone left me.
Will he hold onto me
Like I hold onto him?
I guess we will see,
But hopefully.
I want to belong to him,
Even if I can't come to love myself.

I am surprised that you relate.
I thought you would have gotten into this a different way,
But here we are,
With similar origins,
And familiar pains.
Here we are,
Sharing our aches.
Here we are,
Feeling empty and drained.
Here we are,
Giving each other praise.
Here we are,
Feeling shame.
Here we are,
Being brave.
Here we are,
And we are to stay.
I thought you were not anywhere near the same.
I am surprised that you relate.

When you look at me,
What do you see?
Someone creative?
Someone kind?
Someone beautiful?
I don't know many more,
I am not you.
But this is what I see,
When I look at me:
A monster with no heart.
An empty being.
A disordered pig.
A lost cause.
A basket case.
A lying, conniving *****.
A mental breakdown in physical form.
A high BMI.
A poser.
A wannabe.
An embodiment of indecisiveness.
But this is just when I look at myself,
So I'm fine if I just don't look,
Right?

I thought I was fine,
But as I find,
I have A Sick Mind.

With the violent jerking,
And battering of my heart,
And my self-image,
I have deteriorated.
I don't want to look at myself for a second longer than it takes
To put on my face in the morning,
Because if I do,
I will begin to poke and **** at my own flesh,
Feeling as if I am going to upchuck every calorie I have consumed
In the 15 years, and 120 days of my life.
If I look at myself long enough,
I am repulsed,
And my day from that point on will be violently,
Disruptively disordered.
Everything I am forced to consume,
Because of the need to hide my disastrous disorder,
Will become disgusting, half-digested
*****.
And rottingly,
I will feel pure,
And vile,
All at the same time.

Could you?
Could you bring yourself to tell me the truth?
Could you tell me what really happened all those years ago?
Could you tell me why you never loved me,
Like I did you, though you pretended to?
Could you tell me why you lied about why you had to shatter me?
Could you tell me why you even said yes in the first place?
Could you tell me why you kissed him,
In a bathroom, and told me you had to leave me,
Because your mother was discriminatory
Towards any being who loved more people than those of just the opposite ***?
Could you tell me why you never openly told me the truth,
But told the whole story on a forum,
As a dedication to him?
Could you tell me why,
After you knew I was mostly healed,
You wrote all of that,
And put it up,
Where you knew I would see it?
Could you tell me why you never said a ****** thing,
When we started talking again?
Could you tell me why you lied?
Could you?

Breath short,
Distance long,
Goals still not reached,
I hobble along.
Time fast,
Pace slow,
My soul unknowing,
I have no place to go.
Wide smiles,
Loads of lies,
Distrust grows,
In my wavering eyes.
One hand firm,
One hand shaky,
They are strong,
I am weak, my insides achy.
Breath short,
No distance,
I have stopped,
With much resistance.