I can no longer feed the voice in my head telling me not to eat.

Puke

You taught me how to love the taste of everything. The taste of burned matches I put out on my skin, the taste of the dirt underneath my fingernails I bit off to not scratch my throat, the taste of laxatives that tasted sweet and bitter at the same time.

Most importantly, you taught me to love the taste of my puke. Puking made me skinny and the taste of puke was the upside of my slowly dying body. I grew to love my skeleton that I never met, but the could be's of happiness to finally meet the structure kept me going.

You made me work hard to eventually see the structure for months, 6 months to be exact until you stopped doing your job.

My cheeks were swollen, my throat destroyed, my teeth rotting. My stomach bloated from water retention holding another 4-6 lbs, numbers I wouldn't know if it weren't for you. My skin yellowing, and I confused that with a glow. My stomach lining stretched to fullest capacity from the foods I downed in bulk, only to throw up money my mom wasted feeding what she thought was her daughter, but it was you.