They scold.
I twitch.
She screams.
I grab my hip.
Why are you doing this?
What do you want me to say?
I'm sick again.
Again?
I never recovered.
I never stopped gagging.
I did not put starvation to an end.
It put me to the end.
She folds her arms.
I reach for my neck bones.
It is worth it to feel them.
Poking, protruding, outward.
Starving, barfing, laxatives.
It is worth the pain to be thin.
Why would you do this to us?
She asks.
I am starving for me.
I am dying for me.
This is not about them
Or about how much I want them to feel pain.
Because that is not me.
No matter the pain they have caused, it's not worth it to make them feel the way I do.
It is not a fun game I am playing with myself.
It is not something I want them to know.
It is something scary, gross, disgusting.
A disease I am suffering from.
Why don't you get yourself out?
She exclaims.
I am so far down.
Believe it or not, I enjoy it here.
I live to see the bones.
I wake up to starve.
How could you enjoy pain?
When you live with it for so long
it is something you become immune to.
It just happens you reply.
Explaining it will not help.
They do not think the way I do.
They think I am sick and twisted.
I do not let them think otherwise.
Because I am.
Sick and twisted.
Up and down.
Every fat inch of my body.
Sick.
Huge.
Twisted.
Take a look into the mind.
Things are the same.
Thoughts sick.
Mind twisted.
Weight loss invited.
Gain weight and you will see the demons
I have within.
I do not invite them to come out and play.
I just fail.
They take notice unlike any other being.
How could you get so sick?
She demands an answer.
I think for a moment, in silence.
Her eyes cry tears.
I am left without tears, without emotion.
How could I get so sick without you noticing.
That is what she wants to know.
How could a daughter get so sick without her mother taking notice.
That is what she is prying for.
How could this come back to her.
How this could make her feel.
Not me.
The sick and twisted one.
The lost girl, daughter, sister, friend.
What answer does she want from me.
I am used to giving them what they want.
That is how this all began.
I was not enough before.
Now what am I?
Too much?
Somewhere the lines have been crossed.
I am stuck in the mirror.
Away from the world.
In my own, personal hell.
And that is the way its gonna be.
