Is This Too Personal?

Is This Too Personal?

People tell me I eat too fast. People tell me I eat too slow.

They whisper, “She is fat.” They yell, “She is too skinny!”

I am told I do not  need make-up to be pretty. But when I do not wear it they ask me why.

Why?

I sit here, in solitude, pinching my sides and leaving bruises because at least that is consistent.

It is not that I want to be alone. I want to get away from you.

Because you throw paper airplanes at my head, telling me everything that is wrong with me.

Airplanes that I can never fly off to an unknown world on.

I confessed to you that I am  having trouble, and you laugh right in my face.

Because for some reason, my feelings are irrelevant, I am irrelevant. 

Is this because I will never be who you want me to be?

Because I am not smart enough, I don’t know how to read your mind- I was never taught the art of worshiping you.

Sometimes I close my hands around my throat, making it difficult to breathe, simply so I might emulate the chokehold that you have on me.

Because I cannot live without you, but I cannot live with you either. My insecurities boil over, spilling all over the floor. The scalding water never felt so good, burning my flesh.

But I do not do it when you are looking, because I know you would judge me harshly. Not because it is bad for me- because maybe it is, I will admit to that much..

But you would judge me because that means I am thinking too much about myself, as I always have. 

I need to think of others, put their needs before mine. If they need to eat, I shall starve and waste away because they are simply more important than I am.

I often think of how things would be, if you understood. I wish you would hold me, cradle me in your arms- as a mother would.

But you pinch at my sides, leaving bruises- at least that is consistent. 

I have come to the realization that you will never be satisfied by anything I do. 

That does not change a thing.

I will not be content, because I crave your attention- the same way I crave that everlasting feeling of digging holes in my skin.

I want it so desperately, I do not even consider the consequences.

That I will only be hurt as you fail to love me the way I love you.

That the holes in my skin will bleed out onto the floor and leave me wasted, nothing left.

But I crave the consequences too, I suppose. That is the way my world works.

I want to get away from you and the toxicity you bring.

But please, (never) leave my side.

For I could (not) live without you.

I hope this is not too personal, and I have not scared you away.

It is just the way I feel for you, and the way you put me down.

Don’t stop.

Please, 

Stop.