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.