It's late. I don't know what time it is, but my body knows it's late. I haven't eaten in a few hours. Approximately 7 hours without eating.
My stomach begins to growl.
A little snack maybe? I mean, it wouldn't hurt right?
Before I get up to exit my room, I pass my mirror.
I try not to pay attention at these hours because the voices come out.
But they're luring me.
I look at myself in the mirror. I notice the details of my clothes first.
Random clothes that act as sleeping clothes.
Pathetic.
I take my shirt off to reveal the hanging lump of fat of my stomach.
I look at myself up and down.
"Pretty girls shouldn't have their torso hang over their pants. You look like a cupcake! So the saying is true, you are what you eat aren't you pig?" She says.
My tear filled eyes try to block her out.
I take my pants off to reveal scarred thighs and legs.
"Does it hurt when you rub your thighs together? It seems like you do that all the time. You can't even wear shorts because your thighs are too big, you'll cut your own circulation. Did you know earthquakes happen when you hit your thighs?" She says.
I feel the tear streaks down my cheeks.
Shaking.
Short breaths.
Why does the voice in the mirror haunt me?
"Don't you even dare turn to your side. You'll block the entire mirror!" She says.
"But, he thinks I'm beautiful." I sob as I tell her about my boyfriend.
"He's only with you because he feels bad for you. No one else loves you or cares about you. He's only there because you can't even help yourself." She says.
"Please stop." I say.
"Try and stop me pig." She taunts.
I fall to the floor, giving up on the tears I was trying to hold back.
"You're pathetic." She says.
I crawl to a secret hiding spot of my bed and grab a razor blade.
I carve the word fat on my thigh.
I couldn't feel the cuts as I sliced my body.
Trying to trim off the parts of myself I was disgusted with.
My thighs, my hips, my arms, and my shoulders. Torn up.
Blood covering my hands, I drop the razor.
"Give up, pig. No one will save you from me." She says.
I look at the bloody mess I've created in the mirror.
Anger and self loathe started building up.
Screams of anger are produced as I rip the sheets off my bed, books off the shelves, and posters on the walls.
I laid on the floor knowing I couldn't stop the voice in the mirror.
