As I look at myself in the mirror
darkness is all I see.
My troubled eyes
look back at me.
Tear stains
all over my cheeks.
The make up I use to hide my imperfections
is now
gone
and so my ugly skin shows.
My hair.
The mess of tangles that sits on my head.
My lips:
chapped,
opened
as I let out another sob.
I can't do this anymore.

My teary eyes drift from my face to my body.
The first thing I notice:
my arms.
Skin so pale I could blend in with a white wall.
Next my stomach and chest.
And along with it,
the scars that have marked my past.
So gross.
So ugly.
So useless.
My legs, my thighs, no gap between them.
Why can't I just be skinny?
Why is it so hard?
Maybe I'll just give up on eating again.
That will make me beautiful, right?

Another cry, another whimper,
another imperfection found.
Another pill.
This will take my pain away.
I just can't seem to be good enough.
Shaky hands hold a razor.
My friend.
My saviour.
My life and my  cause of death.

Will I resist today?