Your dress size is always an extra-small but you can see the roundness of your stomach pressing against the thin black fabric so you rip it off in the changing room and pause as you pinch at the extra skin on your stomach and you fight the urge to throw it all up. And then you’re yanking your dad’s oversized shirt over your bare body thinking back to everything that you’ve ate in the past day and try to count the calories like you used to count your steps when you walked to school, back when there wasn’t a voice in the back of your mind screaming, “dead girls are thinner, maybe he’d love you if you starved.”
You go the beach once a week and you arms are crossed over your torso, moving only to pull up the shorts you’re wearing to cover as much of your stomach as you can. And your best friend rolls her eyes and says, “There are a lot of people who want your body,
stop complaining.” and you can tell by the way she talks she thinks you’re looking for attention.
Your friends thought you’d gotten better because you didn’t cry at your own reflection anymore but you still dug your nails into your wrist because you can’t see your own ribs."
— My Friends Like To Call Me A Narcissist, They Should See The Way I Stand On My Scale (via lonely-hearts-clique)
— Juliann Garey, Too Bright to Hear Too Loud to See. (via wordsnquotes)
— b.a.s. (You did this to me, filled me with a hatred that leaves my tongue scorched, my chest on the edge of explosion, and my mind consumed by bitter madness.)
— (via urnoteventhatcute)