***TRIGGER WARNING!*** I lost count for how many times I said it's time for a change.

This month is your month, THIS MONTH YOU WILL GET TO YOUR GOAL WEIGHT...
but you've been fasting for so looooong and your stomach is really killing you, one bite of like a slice of bread won't hurt too much, right? Yes it will. Bread has carbs and carbs will become calories and calories will become fat and fat will become failure and you can't deal with anymore failure... Here, have some warm water, it should help with the hunger pains. No, it helped a little, but it stills getting worse. You whisper, " There are no pains like hunger pains. There are no pains like hunger pains. There are no pains like hunger pains. There are no pains like hunger pains." but who are you kidding? Yeah, hunger pains are great, at first it's a physical testament to empty, pure, one step closer to thin. But now it's been days, and you know it's working because you see the scale go down, .1 by .1 its taking forever. AND YOUR STOMACH IS KILLING YOU. Okay, fine be a **** up, but still be careful. Nothing more than half a lemon. You open the fridge door to get the lemon and you see the bags. The bags from this afternoon when your dad drove all the way here to see you, make sure you were okay since you didn't call them this week, you see the food you and he went to go eat. He was worried he was wasting your time though so he got the food for you to go, that way you didn't have to cook. Stop, the lemons are right behind that bag... That bag... Filled with food... NO. STOP. But it's too late. You open the bag and look at the white Styrofoam boxes, "strawberry walnut salad," "baked veggie lasagna," and "tiramisu..." NO, GO AWAY. Go away... go away. go? go where? Inside you. INSIDE YOU. INSIDE YOU. WHY? DOES IT MATTER RIGHT NOW? Can you taste that strawberry slice you swallowed whole? Can you feel the lump from trying to take bites out of the lasagna like it was a sandwich? Inhale that tiramisu down, before you realize what is happening. GET IT ALL IN. Wait. Wait. Wait. You dumb ****ing failure. You fat *****. Worthless, shameless, senseless, pathetic excuse for life, what the hell are you doing? No. No, you can't even look at yourself right now. Your knees go weak looking down to your hands, covered with salad dressing, marinara sauce, bits of mousse... Not again, you couldn't even try to stop your self. Pathetic. Pathetic. You collapse on the ground crying, shaking from pain, from shame, from life. Get it out right now, you have to get it out right now. You suck back your tears and grab the nearest water bottle, half full... Drink it down, and another one and another one. You sit there with your stomach bulging out like a flickering neon sign refusing to leave you alone. FAT. FAT. FAT. FAT. FAT. FAT. Close your eyes and lean you head back. Take a minute to remember that you'll get it out. First let the water go into everything in your stomach. Count to a hundred, it's time. You reach for your music player and crank it up. You go into the bathroom and turn on the bath tub, next the sink, then the exhaust fan. You stare at your face in the mirror. Red and blotch from crying, smeared mascara, covered in food. You failure, you can't even look at your self. You grab your toothbrush and jam it down your throat with your head below the toilet seat. Cough, cough, cough, cough, gag. Finally. Gag, gag, gag, gag, and then it flows out like a river. Spit, cough, cough, cough, gag, river. Spit, cough, cough, cough, gag, river. Spit, cough, cough, cough, gag, river. Spit, cough, cough, cough, gag, gag, gag, cough, cough, cough. It's all out. Your knees are shaking, eyes watering, nose burning, mouth gasping, lips trembling, body shivering. You brace your self against the sink. Why do you do this? You look at your hand, the toilet, the look on your face. You swore never again. Never again and now look what happened? You clean up the bathroom, swish with Listerine and in a fit of rage throw out all your food. You look at your empty fridge and remember how your mom woke up early this morning to make you favorite food that you just threw out. You look at the bin and remember your dad driving all the way to your uni to see you, to bring you a few groceries, the food your mom made, and the take out he got for you. You look at it and just can't stop crying. Why can't you just tell them what's going on? Why not? "Hey mom, hey dad... Please don't come visit me, I miss you but I'll see you in a week for summer break. Don't waste your time or your money or your love on me because I'm not worth it." Yeah, that conversation would... never happen. I can't go on like this, hurting them, and hurting myself.