Who am I?
I ask myself every day.
I am fat, I am ugly.
I answer everyday.
But then there are those days,
Those days of truth and honesty with myself
When I answer,
I am anorexia.
No longer just a victim,
I have become the disease.
No one knows. They don't suspect.
I'm fine on the outside.
But the inside.
The inside is a different story.
A story of lies and deception,
A story of sadness and tears,
A story of uncontrollable anger and rage!
And somewhere deep down inside,
Is there that little giggly, happy, vivacious girl?
No. I've murdered her.
I've replaced her.
Replaced her with sickness and depression and inexplicable pain.
She's gone.
Never to return.
She died so young.
It almost makes my heart ache.
But it's better this way.
That silly little child could never be perfect.
She'd never even try.
But the new me,
Oh yes, the new me is much better.
Much better at self-hatred and striving for the impossible.
We will reach our goal.....
Or die trying.
I'd like to mention as a side note that this was written during my early teenage years, during the depth of my disease and the beginning of my therapy. I no longer view the disease as "me". It will always be a part of me, but it is a part I will continue to overcome.
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