There are two halves to my story

Half of me wants to get better. To function properly in this modern world. Right now I feel like an old computer, they tried to fix me twice but I shut down and was thrown out. I want the gleaming screen back, the light in my eyes. Half of me wants to please everyone and say YES I AM RECOVERED. Half of me wants to shout it from the rooftops that I do love food and I don't hate my body.

But

The other of me cuts all it's wires. It allows the people utilizing me as a computer to type unbearable things and never backspace. Leaving painful words permanently stained like a tattoo. Half of me wants to cut so deep I begin to bleed and never stop, till every ounce is gone. I know I'm empty and all this is is ******* people pleasing because I HAVE TO BE perfect. I HAVE TO do the right thing and everyone says this is what's right that recovery is better so I play along, trying to be perfect. But in my head in order to be perfect you have to be content with yourself and eating disrupts my peace to the point where I do wish to die.

They all tell me my future looks bright but in my eyes I'm already a ******* failure. What's my purpose? I spend all my energy trying to destroy my body and they spend all their's trying to fix it. What I am, is a waste. A waste of time, of money, of love and waste of any help I've ever received. I don't have hope that this will ever go away. Because right now it's living in my bones my heart my brain and every one of my ******* blood cells and it swears to me it's never leaving. I ******* hate this but ignoring it and fighting against it only makes me hate myself.

I've been hiding, I've been hiding
But it's all built up so far I feel I'm about to burst. I'm so sorry for everything I've ever put you through I'm sorry for wasting your time. Because it is precious, and my siblings and others deserve it far more than I do.

I've had a plan since day one to get out and destroy myself and I guess now is the time it plans to surface.
There's nothing left of me anyway, just fat and vile emotions of hate towards myself. I can't love and I can't paint. I can't talk and I can't barely ******* function without medical support. I don't deserve to be here, I don't deserve your attention and the world has suffered enough having to tolerate me for so long. It's time for me to go

I am no one
I am the blank page that sits in front of you as you rack your brain raw for things to write about
I am the *** of coffee you force yourself to make every drab day you drag yourself out of bed
I am the rain hitting your windshield on your way to work, obstructing your view of the world through ***** glass
I am nothing and I am
No one

When can we call a cease-fire?
When can I raise my white flag?
We were never at war
I think all failed to see
The sadness in us
Wasn't meant to be
Ive gone back again
To writing with pen
Emotion and thoughts
Jumbled up on the page
Oh when can you,
Raise your white flag?
Boys aren't supposed to
make girls fight themselves
Friendship is meant to be shared
And hate, well I'd say,
Is not welcome here
Feelings come and they go
Mine are long gone
I don't mind if yours are
It's okay if they stay, I won't
Get in the way.
I wonder if you, please
Would like to make,
Peace with me?

She opened the cabinet
Took the pills,
one too many would seal the deal She broke a glass
And took a piece
She held it in her pearly teeth
She spat it out and began to spin
Piercing her own porcelain skin
Crimson drips run down her arm
Pooling at her feet like rain after a storm

She plunged into her sadness
Bricks tied to her feet
She wanted to drown the demons
She gave in to defeat
She thought it was the only way out, who cared if she didn't come back?
She tried to destroy the demons
And by this destroyed herself

It's a drug I guess. Like nicotine to a cigarette smoker. They're addicted, never wanna let it go. That's how I feel about my sadness. You see, I'm addicted. Breathing in smoke is better than not breathing in anything at all and so is the case with my sadness. I suppose what I hate most is the calm after the storm, the numb after the pain, the feeling of feeling nothing. To me, being sad- is better than being nothing at all. So yes, I love my sadness. I love it with a passion, and just like a smoker with his cigarettes. I'm addicted.

Happiness

A word that expresses how I feel now
How I feel now expressed by the word
Happiness

A form of self-love is self-care
Self-care quite a form of self-love

Happiness
Recovering from an eating disorder.
A form of self love.