I ‘m bulimic. I weigh 74 pounds. I’m 15.
My boyfriend of a year, died, he was 16, he was driving. And the red pickup truck never saw us, the driver of the truck and my boyfriend both died. I only had six broken ribs and a ton of emotional stress I never got through. No one cared.
The only people who have ever cared left. It’s just me now, all by myself in this big old world with a lot of people who want to tear you down. Again and again they try, but I will be stronger, I can make it through.
When word got around of my eating disorder, I went through a lot of shit. Counselors were called the nurse had to check; the school told my parents and I got in trouble for ‘drawing attention to myself’, that night was fun as my Mom watched my dad slap me, yell and drink, the bulge in his pants getting bigger, I was going to be fucked tonight.