dear ed,

fuck you, you fucking piece of shit. i wanna be thin, i wanna be skinny, but i don't want you. make me skinny without fucking around with my mind. sometimes i had the other version of you - you know, the one that makes you puke? but i don't. i have the fucking one that makes it feel like your nerves are on fire, like your skeleton will implode, like you're in a constant tug of war to become beautiful.

i wish you'd eradicate yourself, that you'd vaporize into air and set us free from our misery. but it's too late. you're everywhere. and even if i hate you, i love you. i'll choose you over everything else. we're the worst type of relationship - i know it - yet i don't wanna leave.

last night, i was barely alive. i had eaten the least i could without my mother getting suspicious. as i lay in bed, contemplating it all, i took a deep breath. apparently even that was too much for you. as i inhaled, i felt like i was gonna die. i shook it off, yet it happened again. i knew it was your fault. so i crammed. 1 madeline, 1 cup of pretzels, a shit ton of blueberries, 2 mint milanos. i went to bed feeling like a failure. after days of doing my best, i had fucking ruined it.

i don't want to make this letter too long, i'm sure you have tons from around the world. all i wanna say is: 1) go fuck yourself, 2) see you tomorrow

yours truly, my name