Dear Demons,

Dear Demons,
How do you feel? How do you feel knowing what you've done all those kids and adults. How can you live with yourself? You've ruined so many lives, ended some too. Including mine.
Depression; ever since you entered my life when I was 12, I didn't even know who you were. I thought you were a friend. You weren't satisfied though. You have a few more tricks up your sleeve. You had another friend- self harm.
Self harm found me through YouTube. I watched some videos with pictures of kids like me with slits across their arms and blood dripping like fountains. Self harm leaned over in the midnight darkness and whispered in my ear.
"Look at all those girls just like you. I helped them, Beck- I'll help you.
Self harm led me upstairs where I searched through my dresser. I found a handheld sharpener, and a pointed nail file. Using the nail file, I unscrewed the razor. I sat on the side of my bed, staring at the silver weapon, glistening in the yellow light from my lamp.
Slowly, I dragged the razor across my pure skin, my upper forearm erupted in a bubble of blood. I dropped the razor and held my arm, hyperventilating and crying. I began to have my first panic attack that night. I cried for hours until I fell asleep.
Two years later, thousands of cuts later, two hospitalizations and one alternate school later, here I am. With more keloids and scars than stars in the sky. My arms, legs and stomach with stripes of white, red, pink and puce and purple everywhere. Keloids were all over my thighs, deep purple and raised. They're so very far from unnoticeable, even after years. They itch still, I can't go swimming with my friends or wear shorts. Self harm is a mean friend. You befriended me, took over my life. I became dependent on you. I thought you were my only friend. That you'd always be there for me- but you're just a parasite.
Depression and Self Harm teamed up on me and ruined my life.
They brought in Ana, who took over when I had a cold. I was too weak and couldn't eat for three days. After, I stepped on the scale, and I had lost 7 pounds.
"Congrats," Ana said. "Look at how easy it is! Just eat a slice of bread in the morning like yesterday. A small slice pumpernickel bread. That's all you need. I know you don't feel well dear, but it shall go away."
I was happy I made a new friend. Happy I could loose weight so easily. But Ana pushed me.
" You could do better."
She made me an Instagram, where I could post my progress. I joined MyProAna, where I found Pro Ana and thinpiration and other motivation to get skinny. I read awful blogs titled. "75 reasons not to eat today.", or "15 purging tips."
I stopped eating at lunch. My stomach hurt, my menstrual cycle was absent, and I was constantly went dizzy and fainted. My mother gave me food she deemed healthy, but I threw it out at lunch. When she asked me if she had put enough mustard in my sandwich and I replied with 'yes', she new I liedー there was no mustard in my peanut butter and jelly. She was upset. I was fed up, and Ana had to work to hard. She handed me over to Mia.
"Have you heard of me? Bulimia. All the food you want- zero calories. Hurry, child. Purge, before you digest those filthy calories." She sneered.
I jammed three fingers down my throat, kneeling by the toilet. Nothing came up. I gave up, and Mia gave up. She wasn't done, yet.
Weeks later, she showed up again. We crept down the dark staircase where she let me to the kitchen. She pulled out ice cream, tortillas, bread and leftover pasta.
"These will come up easily, dear." She assured me.
I wolfed them down, drank a large glass of water, then headed to the restroom.
I jammed my fingers down my throat once again, were food came up through my throat. I was amazed at how easy it was. I stepped on the scale, purged, scale, purge, scale, repeat until I shrunk. I weighed all my food and counted the fat and calories of everything I ate.
But the sore throats, obsession- I couldn't handle it. So I met B.E.D. Binge Eating Disorder. She let my use food as a way to cope. "Hon," she muttered. "Self harm is not too nice. You mustn't injure yourself- eat, eat hon."
So I ate when I was upset, angry, happy, numb, bored. Food made me happy. It was different every time and harmlessーright?
But during the two hospitalizations, I stuffed my face with chips, pudding and pasta each day. When I came home, I had gained 40 pounds. My B.M.I. was a whopping 27.6 and I was officially overweight.
I started cutting again- so deep that pale yellow-white fat bubbles became more and more visible. I bled for hours, cutting deeper and deeper I should have gotten stitches for most of them.
After a while of letting these awful things determine who I am, I realized they were not my friends. They were awful people with tricks up their grotesque sleeves. But after all that, there was no going back. They had me by the neck, refusing to let go.
"Throw up,"
"Burn yourself."
"Cut yourself."
"Swallow those pills."
"Steal this."
"Steal that."
"Break this."
"You're ruined."
I'm no longer a happy little kid.
I'm a monster.
I'm nothing.
With love/hatred,
Beck