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I mark the days I failed to starve up on my wrist in tallies.
 It's gotten to the point where I have almost ran out of room to count the times I’ve inflicted pain to punish myself for being human.
 When I get hungry, I remind myself of the blood on my scissors I use to harm myself. I do this to stop my temptation, and to help me lose appetite.
 But at this point, even my own blood makes me crave chocolate syrup.
 I have forgotten what it feels like to not shake. The feeling of being still enough to be able to write my own name. To be able to cut in a straight line.
 The thought of helplessness will forever be embedded in my mind. Like a parasite, it will feed on the little confidence I have left. And leave me, with nothing but remorse of every single calorie that I ever had.
 A constant reminder that I did this to myself.. A forever thought that maybe, I deserve this. 
I deserve to suffer.
 To faint if I stand up too quickly. And to be so frail, that my knuckles break if I lash out on my pillow. I am so fragile, it is almost relieving to watch how easily I hurt.
 It brings me assurance that there is still some humanity left in this dying body.
 When I look in the mirror my reflection is almost transparent. I have now succeeded, to scare children.
 People are able to see my bones through my skin, just as easily as I am able to see their mouths drop to the ground in fear when I walk by.
 It makes everything worth it.
 The constant headaches, fainting, cutting. The constant fear of whether or not I wake up.
 Of course, I'm kidding.
 I would take everything back if I could. I would stop if I could. But, I can't.
 Because I can't help but notice that the skinnier I get, the less visible I am. I mean, that's all I've ever wanted.
 Was, to stop being that girl that was so big, no one could miss.
 And to start being the one that no one notices.
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