Ah...ah...
Mother knocks on the door, begging me to open the door, I can hear her cry, cries of sadness and desperation.
All I can do is stare at the mirror why disgustingly touching my ribs that stick out,
grab my dirty, greasy hair.
I feel filthy, my fingers look longer than I remembered, my bones ached, I look like a skeleton, my eyes that used to look dull suddenly brigthen, but not in happyness or hope, it felt more like I admited defeat against anorexia, and that I was dead.
While mother gave up on knocking the door and is helplessly crying and calling people on the phone, I feel the urge tickle around my bones.
The mirror that stood there, it looked exacly like the mirror I had when I was six, my rooms walls had princesses painted on them by my fathers hard working and tired hands, as much as I loved the walls the jewel of the room was my beautiful, beautiful mirror.
Pink, girly, I loved it.
Whenever I looked into that mirror I didnt need to feel like a supermodel or like the girls in magazines, I just needed my mommy, my daddy, and my dolls.
And now when I look in this mirror I know all that finished, that this is the reality, my fate.
I dont know what mother was thinking putting in a cheap look-a-like mirror, maybe she thought it would make me happier.
But she was wrong, looking at the mirror reminds me how things changed, and how they will end.
I didnt want to be a model, I wanted to be a writer, maybe for fashion, or maybe for a tabloid.
Soo why does it have to end like this?
Im just a seventeen year old girl, with a lovely boyfriend and good friends, I just wanted to be loved by my dearests, and now I cant be loved anymore.
Because when im dead I wont remember a thing, I wont remember Lydia, Michael, mom, dad, those backstabbing whores from school, or the pervert teacher.
I feel dizzy, and looking at myself makes me want to vomit, but I cant, there is nothing for my body to expel.
I grab the mirror with the little strenght I have and smash it on the floor, all these memories, all these dreams.
The glass scratched my skin, blood dripped slowly from my arms and legs, it didnt feel good, it felt sickening. I pulled my hair and smashe my head into the window...pencils...I find one, I stab myself in the stomach before I realized, I scream out and I think my mother is telling me to please stop it, but im not shure, I stab myself again and walk painfully to the door, I unlock it and stare at my mother, who was crying and was shaking, she screeeched and cried even harder when she saw her anorexic, slutty daugther stabbing herself with pencils she used to proudly draw elephants with, the fear and sadness in her eyes were the last straw, I stab myself twice again.
I feel ligtheaded, free, mommys crying face is dissapearing, the blood from my wrists and ankles are dissapearing, my bony hands and even my sadness are dissapearing.
And then everything blacks out.
Once again I feel like that six year old dreamer, wanting to be a princess and waiting for her prince to sweep her off her feet.
--
With my bowl of cornflakes, I sat on the couch infront of the TV, fully dressed, and with fully dressed I really just mean a baggy sweater, skinny jeans and short boots, because I hated converse for reasons.
