Not fair. 

So not fair. 

You grow a girl to a eating-disorderes and mental-illnesses place, an surprised when she have one too. 

YOU FUCKING BITCH. 

Do you think that for a minute I actually enjoy the cutting? Actually enjoy the endless stress afterwards, if I might be discovered? Do you think I enjoy your comments? About how much or how little I eat? Do you think that I feel good with it? Do you?

Because I know that I don't. 

It's a fucking hell. 

But because of them, and mostly you, it's the only place that accepts me. 

And I'd rather be in a hell, than a life that I don't belong to. 

Today I'm going to the psychologist. 

I fucking hate her. 

Like, what the duck am I supposed to say?

What's on my mind?!

So I look completely insane to you?!

You're not a psychiatrist that will just prescribe few pills, all you can legally do is to talk to me out of it. 

No thank you. 

I don't want to be recovered. 

It's all bullshit anyway. 

People relapse. 

All the time. 

And so do I. 

So making me feel shameful about it won't help. 

At fucking all. 

I'd just feel like a failure. 

And I'll hate myself. 

And I'll destroy myself. 

Which will be a relapse. 

And here the cycle begins again!