I slide into the bath, see my body underwater, bloated. I try to reason, I tell myself to see, not feel, when I look at myself. I just keep feeling and it turns twice its size. I shudder, breathe in a stutter. I want to turn the water pink. I want to cut. I don't just want to cut, I want to tear and rip. I shouldn't. I shouldn't and I know I shouldn't. But I have a new box of metal, sharp and shining and begging to be in my skin, under the layers.
They want under the skin of my leg. Of my arm. They want into the thick fat at my belly, biting. They want inside my heart, slicing.
My razors went ice skating in fatland.
---
I wrote this last night. I will not write like this again.
Stop being depressing. Stop indulging in self-hate. Stop. Just stop.
I will be positive. Fucking positive.
I don't care if I woke up today, ate half the kitchen and threw up all before 9am.
I. WILL. BE. FUCKING. POSITIVE.
I don't care if my leg is covered in cuts.
I WILL BE FUCKING POSITIVE AND OPTIMISTIC AND ALL THAT SHIT.
I don't care if I've smoked enough to kill a dragon yesterday.
I WILL STOP THESE FUCKING HABITS, BE A GOOD GIRL.
oh, and, by the way DALKWEJAWKEAKJWHKAWEKAJWEAWEAW.
i won't let you say goodbye, and i'll be your reason why.
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