When a battle is faught, scars are brought.
Watching the scale, watching the numbers decrease, brings me such joy.
The hunger brings me joy.
I thought I could stop whenever I wanted, but no.
The hunger is addicting.
I got addicted to the hunger, like it was some sort of drug.
The voice in my heard kept yelling,
You're not good enough. You can't be better. Stop it, you're such an emmbarasment.
I couldn't see what I was doing. I thought that I deserved this.
But I didn't.
And no one does.
I wish I figured that out sooner.
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(A/n) I have depression and its not fun.
Also, I don't need your pity. I have enough just by me.
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YOU ARE READING
Mysterious
PoetryLove is different for all of us. Some is given. Some is taken. Some is one-sided. Some isn't. Hate is different for all of us. Some is given. Some is taken. Some is one-sided. Some isn't.
