Writer. Dreamer. Believer. Cautious. Singer. Magical Fairy Princess.
One day you fall for this boy. And he touches you with his fingers. And he burns holes in your skin with his mouth. And it hurts when you look at him. And it hurts when you don’t. And it feels like someone’s cut you open with a jagged piece of glass.
I binge when I’m depressed – no surprise. I binge in order not to feel the things that I ought not to feel, like sadness, anger, and humiliation. But I also binge in order not to feel the things that I don’t deserve to feel, like joy, love, and pride. I don’t need anyone to tell me that I’m embarrassing and ugly, that I should not be seen in public, that I don’t deserve respect or love, and that everyone is allowed to hate me because I’m disgusting. I’m unattractive. I’m unfuckable. I know that. I have believed that in my very soul.
I binge so that I don’t have to feel anything.