It's finally the last straw for me. I feel myself slowly gathering up the desire to break my pencil sharpener and cut into my arm. But for now I am to much pf a coward. Not eating makes me feel better. Sometimes I don't eat untill dinner, others I stuff myself like the fat bitch I am. I know this because nobody notices. My family think I'm fine. I smile, laugh and even follow orders. That makes me happy, right? If they knew me... they would hate me. If they could feel what I feel... I would be sitting behind a locked door wearing a straight jacket. My mind is a very dark place to be. I write this not because I want attention, or sympathy. I write to get this out of my system. Its the only thing I can do.
