To my "issues",

I'm not going to give you a name or admit to your existence until you're undeniable. As much as I hate you I want you to take more from me right now, to prove you exist. I can't tell if it's you thinking this or me but I wish I wasn't so fat when you began so I wouldn't be in limbo as long. You've convinced me you're not a disorder unless I'm underweight. You hate this but I was happier fat. BMI 27 didn't look good on me, I'm not much in the way of looks, but BMI 27 is in half a million photos with friends and family and out enjoying the world. BMI 20 leaves the house three times a week and is becoming more withdrawn by the day. BMI 20 sucks and you keep saying if I stick it out it'll get better, I just need to go lower. You can tell me all you want that BMI 17 is going to sit where 27 stood twice as happy but I know you're lying. 17 will be anxiously trying to count calories and avoiding drinks that aren't out of cans and will be too preoccupied with you to enjoy the moment.

I'm fed up with you.

You're the first concern I have in the morning, hell you dictate my mornings. I'm not a morning person. You know this. Still you force my body up at 6:30am because I can't get more than 5-6 hours of sleep with what you feed me. I spend a good hour awake, waiting for people in the house to leave so I can start your bullshit morning ritual, not drinking or eating until then because god forbid my weight be a bit higher. I start my mornings off with a number that you'll never be satisfied with, and still when you don't get it you're pissed. I lose either way. The next part of my morning routine is to go online and feed you instead of myself, to browse forums for eating disorders (which you're not) and make sure that I don't lose sight of your goals. God forbid I have goals that aren't yours, that I spend time on anything that isn't self-critical or self-hating or related to my body. I hate being your tool. I hate how cold you leave me, I hate how I have no energy, and I hate the colors you make my skin turn. I hate how much math you make me do. I'm already not too bright and then you go and take up half of my waking thoughts and slow down my ability to process the other half of them. I hate you.

There's a million other words I have for you but I'm tired. You're in too many facets of my life too deeply, it would take half an eternity to address every inch of you the way I'd like to. I'm going to take a nap so you can shut up for a bit, yell at me when you'll allow me to eat dinner.

With hate,

- Ossa