i hate my body.

i hate what it is, what it represents, what it looks like, what it houses.

putting on jeans that no longer fit, tears stream down my face and i think of grabbing the exacto knife and plunging it into my gut. a fast, easy way to get rid of the fat. then i'll work on my chin and my arms and my shins and my thighs. hack everything off.

it's not going away fast enough. i can starve and i can jog everyday, but it won't go away fast enough.

i won't go away fast enough.

changing my body doesn't change me and doesn't change always. being. single.

and remember everything he said to you, everything about how hard you are to be with and how crazy you are and how he was sofuckingright, just said everything that no one else had the guts to say.

how right he was.

i'm sorry, owen. you were right.

i just wish you had had the courtesy to kill my body when you killed my hope.

*mgb, 'life beyond the minimum safe distance'

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