make it stop

make it stop: woman scrutinizing herself in the mirror.

make it stop.

I truly can’t take it anymore. I cannot take another single MOMENT trying to wrench the flesh off my bones with my bare hands. it HURTS. purple-red fingerprint bruises bloom on my fat arms and my thick waist. I hear my body tell me how fat I am. my eyes can’t unsee the extra flesh.

I give up (again).

make it stop: Woman aggressively clutching her torso.

hate flows freely through my veins, as I sit here silently gripping and tearing, twisting. can’t stop.

distract yourself. this comes to mind.

so, here I am. I write.

fingers on my keyboard are silent soldiers of safety. when I’m typing I’m not twisting. I deliberately choose photos that require no special “understanding.” I like being blunt. I prefer in-your-face writing. I like choosing my words carefully; the word choices are my favorites, and each one matters.

just keep writing.

fingers on my keyboard are my silent soldiers, trying so hard to fight.


  1. I get the desire to stop the things we keep doing to ourselves. The self-hatred with an eating disorder goes fathoms deep.

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