Nightmares of harsh kisses against my unmoving lips, so hard that their teeth bruise me. “I want you.“ Hands on my sides, invasive touch. I can’t breathe and when I can I use the breath to yell for Tiger. I scream for her.
The last week I haven’t needed sleep. Too hyper to sleep. Too much to do. Too much too much. Drawwriteread. Can’t sleep. Don’t sleep. Sleep is stupid, it takes up too much time. You can do so much when you don’t sleep at all, stay up and write write write. Draw monsters with black, striped tongues. Draw skeletons with laughing mouths. Draw nightmares, brushed onto paper delicately with ink.
Now I’m crashing after the lack of sleep. I didn’t need to sleep then but I need to sleep now. Drained and tired.
I want to stop eating again. I want to. I want to feel hunger. Constant pain. I’m tired of my new body. I’m chubby again. Not fat, not obese, but chubby. A little above average. Curvy. Wide thighs and big boobs and arms that wobble. For all my years of starving and restricting and binging and purging now all I have to show for it is 140 pounds of me. I don’t look sick any more. I don’t look ill or starving or like I’m about to pass out. I look normal.
It kills me.
i won't let you say goodbye, and i'll be your reason why.
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