I am a murderer

i could be considered a murderer. i killed this poor, innocent, little girl that had a world of amazing paths ahead of her. i took her happiness away and what ever friends she had that stuck around. i took her trust and gave her insecurities to the point she couldn’t look in the mirror for longer then two seconds, or just long enough so that she had her makeup perfected so she wasn't “too” ugly. i took her pride and gave her demons. the demons give her mind thoughts of unworthiness. i made it to where she stopped eating. she lost weight and soon loved the results. between the heart aches and loss of friends, i took her soul. the little girl you would see smiling and laughing with friends, the one who paid attention in class and always got good grades. the girl who cared more about her education than her looks. that sweet, innocent, little girl who had the brightest smile and the biggest heart now is dead. because of me. i killed her. the worst part is her family thinks she is still there. under all of the things i took and replaced. she still has her name and that fake smile so the pain, hurt and thoughts that go through her mind aren’t visible to anyone who would look at her. the baggy shirts to hid what’s left of her stomach. the small portions of food she would ingest and later throw up. i should be charged for murder but i can not prove the crime. because she’s not physically dead. she still wakes up in the morning and takes her happy pills. throws that fake smile on and gets through the day trying not to break down in tears. she can still look at something and find a way that it could kill her. though the iv's, morning checks, 15 minute rounds where the nurses would watch you, through the late nights talking to the nurses about why you can’t seem to realize that you have worth. through all the groups, therapy session, and doctor visits, she still can’t find where that innocent little girl has gone. i turned this little girl into a mess and she can’t find out why. she now hates people and most physical contact. she now needs music to calm her down and a safe place to go if those thoughts come into focus again. i ripped this girl limb from limb taking everything that she could possibly remember. she’s gone and it took forever for anyone to see it. she can’t find the pieces to put herself back together and it’s all my fault. she doesn’t remember happy, or emotion other than angry, sad, or nothing at all. this little girl seems like she’s easy to spot out right? the murdered little girl who has been dragged and begging for help for years. well she’s not or at least wasn’t. i am responsible for the death of myself. this little girl is me. and i killed her, over years and years i managed to finally do it. she’s dead and it’s all my fault. there’s nothing left of her to be remembered by anyone close to who she was.