I used to wake up every morning with the bitter taste of yesterday’s guilt still lingering in my mouth.
I used to touch my body as I looked at my lifeless reflection in that deceptive pane of glass.
I used to wish and hope and pray as I pressed my feet onto that cold glass scale that I would be another pound closer to death.
I never ate.
I did everything I could to keep myself from doing so.
Hungry?
20 sit-ups.
Stomach growling?
Get out of the house.
Faint?
Take a nap.
ATE SOMETHING!?
You fat **** go run until you *****.
Why did I do this?
I don’t know.
Was it because I hated myself?
Maybe.
Was it for attention?
Maybe.
Was it just another way for me to self destruct?
Maybe.
You tell me.
But I’ll tell you one thing.
Starving yourself is not ******* worth any of it.