Sixteenth Post: Escalation

I started bulimia and thought I would do it for two months, once a week, so I could lose weight.
Here I am, a year and a half later.
Vomiting everything I put in my mouth.
Vomiting at school. Vomiting at home. Vomiting at restaurants. Vomiting at other peoples houses. Doesn't matter to me.
I vomit until I bleed, until I see bile, until I pass out.
I vomit until someone stops me, or I die.
I started cutting to cope with bulimia and to stop flashbacks. I said I'd only do it rarely, and always use clean objects to cut (or my nail to scratch).
Here I am, half a year later.
Cutting even when I'm not that sad.
I just like the sting.
I cut at home and at school. No one would know.
I started not liking myself.
Now I despise, I hate, I loathe every inch of my body, every ounce of me is disgusting. A waste. Every word that comes out of my mouth is stupid and regrettable. Every action I take should be taken back.
I started being secure.
Now, I don't really know what I am.
-Ren