I stare at him.
Staring at the boy with fringe hair and green eyes.
Stare at the thin, pale boy.
Staring at me.
I see the ribs through my skin, the scars on my arms and legs.
I keep staring.
My thing fingers claw around the knife.
Blood is dripping on the carpet.
One cut.
Another.
Blood.
It runs warm and comfortable over the back of my hand.
The pain makes everything else fade.
I look into my eyes.
I realize.
"Are you beautiful now?"
I yell at myself and throw my knife away.
I stare into his wide-open eyes.
He is angry.
I wanted to stop.
For him.
For me.
I stare at my body.
How could it come so far.
The pain returns.
I looked at the knife eagerly.
"No", I say.
"No", I scream and punch with my fist in the mirror.
"You. Are. Beautiful."
I talk to myself.
"Who says that?" Whisper a voice in my head.
"I", I exclaim.
"But I am not beautiful. Everybody says I am ugly, I am fat."
The voice stops.
Only then I realized that I said that out loud.
Fat, I am fat.
I stare at myself.
No, I am thin, scrawny, sick.
I swallow.
I've never seen it like that before.
"Fat, Fat, Fat" the little voice in my head shouts.
I stare at myself.
"You need help!" I say calmly.
He doesn't answer.
I don't answer.
I look at the scars on my arms.
All the feelings I feel when the pain was too strong came back and tried to pull me down.
I look up.
"No, I say out loud.
In front of me is a determined boy.
A broken,hurt but determined boy.
"I am beautiful", I say.
Then I turn around and leave the mirror behind me.
Leave the room.
Close the door and feel the hope as sand trickles into my consciousness.
Like an hourglass.
A smile creeps up on my thin lips.
Yes, I can do it and I will make it.
I'm sure about that.
