Dear Bully,
I couldn't wear my normal clothes.
Too big for me.
Yes.
I'm making progress to 'Perfection'.
I had to wear my old clothing.
I went to school.
You called me names and you.
Your girlfriend.
Your friends.
Beat me up again.
I'm a really good game to play, aren't I?
You called me fat again.
I knew it.
Not skinny enough.
Not beautiful enough.
Not perfect enough.
I didn't eat any lunch.
I wanted to.
But I didn't.
I needed to be perfect.
The part.
Beautiful.
Belong.
I stopped eating food.
Only drank water.
But finally the rope slipped away from my grasp.
I finally decided to cut.
You got to me.
I picked up the razor.
I stared at it.
I lifted it to my wrist.
And cut with no hesitation.
It felt good.
I loved the pain.
Pain.
I'm so used to it now.
That I love it.
But it didn't help my emotional pain.
Not enough.
I'm not enough.
Not yet.
I need to continue this routine.
Until I'm.
Perfection.
I'm 90 pounds now.
I cut.
I'm trying to be beautiful for you.
Happy now?
YOU ARE READING
Dear Bully,
Non-FictionYou told me I wasn't worth anything. "I Believe You." You broke me. Now I can't even stand to look at myself. What have you done? I Hate Myself. Happy Now?
