[Chayden]

There's skin that can move on my stomach, my arms, my legs... That's unbeautiful.
And I've made my own fucking definition of beauty. It's bones. Bones and boobs.

[Chayden]

But people can't look at me and think, "Oh, what a beautiful person."
I weigh more than one hundred pounds. I'm above "underweight". My BMI is eleven, last time I checked.
I've fallen behind on my obsession, my dedication, my passion. My disease.

[Chayden]

Do you know what I want? Does it matter? Should fucking disgusting people even have the right to a preference?
When you say that there's a skinny girl inside of you, but you starve her with chocolate, I'm disgusted. I want to spit on you, turn away, and never look back.

[Chayden]

There's a skinny girl inside of me. I'm starving to see her.
You know, you can't starve a girl with chocolate.
My skinny girl might not even be a girl.  It all depends... Gender is a preference.

[Chayden]

Well... Shouldn't we leave the wants and privileges to the wonderful people? Wherever the fuck they are?
We should just let them have their way with us. It's what we deserve, for letting ourselves get to be the way that we are.
Oh, if only things were so fucking easy.

[Chayden]

But no. For eating and being imperfect, I must suffer.

Either way, I want things. I want to be skinny. I want to be able to fit my little hands all the way around my thighs, all the way around my stomach.

[Chayden]

I want a face that's pretty when it cries. I want to be able to make others happy. Because you know what makes life difficult?
Having parents who rub your imperfections in your face. Who, when you talk about the people who fawn over your skinniness, say, "Oh, you're not fat, but you're not anorexic..."

[Chayden]

Even when you have been. For years.

I'm afraid to be in the same room as them. At least twice I say, I'm yelled at, called fat, lazy, worthless, nasty... I'm blamed for things that couldn't be farther from my fault.

[Chayden]

Whenever I least need it, they start in.
"Look at you, so gross... So bad. Why can't you be like her? Why can't you be different?"

[Chayden]

But I am different. I'm different than the person you think that I am. I'm different in ways that would disgust you more than you're already disgusted now. In ways that would scare you. Make you scared for yourselves.

[Chayden]

But I don't know, why can't I be different? Who raised me to be the way that I am? Who the hell belittled me into all of this fucking self-hate and -destruction?
"Who the hell taught you to be like that? Why'd you turn out that way?"

[Chayden]

Well, maybe I was a mistake. Is that what you want to hear? Would that make you feel better? Well, hopefully you can sleep at night now. Sorry for keeping you up. Whatever.

[Chayden]

...But would you sleep if I was gone? Would you ever sleep again if you woke up one day to find me hanging? Or found me drowned? What would you tell your fucking son, how would you explain to him how your daughter felt? What happened? What she did to herself?

[Chayden]

Would you ever sleep again, knowing that he could go the same way? Knowing that your insufficiency at the one job you thought you were doing right was the one thing that broke her? The straw that broke the camel's back?
You say that he is just like me, but more violent. I tell you that you are wrong.

[Chayden]

My violent comes out when you look away.

But you could still see it. If you look close enough, you can see the scars. They're there, I assure you... Pink atop of the pink of my skin, perfectly hairless, silent.