anasmorbidhunger

I'm not a skeleton, But that doesn't mean, I'm not dying. I wish I could tell them, About the war in my head. I make it look like I eat, But I wish they could see through that. I'm starving myself, I know it. But they don't realize it, they don't want too. Part of me wants to get better, but I can't. I'm losing control, I did 3 years ago, But they don't want to realize it. I'm screaming out to them, But they don't hear me. Mom thinks I eat more than what I say I do. But I don't. People don't realize I'm sick, Mentally and physically. Because I'm not a skeleton. Their ignorance hurts, But I can't get them to understand,

I wish I could tell my mom, Why I cry, How she thinks I eat, But I don\'t, I wish I could tell her about the war inside my head. I wish she understood my Anorexia. Cheri Nichols June 16th 2002

Alone, crying inside. Darkness. Wanting to be listened to, And understood for once. Scared and hopeless. Unsafe and Unsecure world. Anger and Hatred, Is all I feel anymore. Why is there so much, Beauty and Individuality? It\'s all so cruel.

Angry and confused sitting alone,crying. I am wandering why I'm still here. Life on earth is terrible for me. I wander how or when I will feel better. I sit here and fight the urges, But I feel I can't fight them anymore. Slowly I walk to my closet, Reach down and take out my razors. I sit on my bedroom floor crying. Alone,wanting to be held and loved. I bring the razor up to my arm, And slowly move it down, Toward my elbow, Watching the trail of blood, Following where the razor;s edge had been. I look at my cut and start to feel releived, And in control again. I go and put the razor back. I sit on my bed and cry, The next

I have a |fear| of being alone. But I always push |people| away. Beacause I dont want them |getting| too close. And breaking down the walls, I built around my heart. If they did, they would find out the real |me|.... The real me is a |lost|, crying, scared 8 yr.old little girl. Who built up walls to |protect| her, When her brother hurts her and her stepmother screams at |her|. I had to |protect| her. But now I wish I was |that little girl| again and not Ana... I have a |Personality| Disorder.