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There is writing on my mirror.

Writing in lipstick,
Charting my feelings,
The feelings I feel,
Deep inside.

Each day I add
To the growing mirror mural,
And now it is so covered
I can barely see myself.

Today was amazing everything went right and it felt as though everything I worked towards paid off and I've never been so happy in my whole entire life I'm so happy I cannot sleep I just want to dance and sing and walk and never stop and live and live until the world ends.

Look at you. Staring at me. Who do you think you are?
You're ugly.
Worthless.
Nothing you have ever achieved has been substantial. Why do you think you're so special.
You're shit.
You may as well end it all.

I'm so happy he loves me and he told me he loves me and I love him and now I think everything is special again and I don't know but I'll be happy now and he won't ever let me fall I promise I won't fall again I won't eat pills I won't cut my arms because he'll always be there to catch me and keep me and love me.

Stupid child.
How could you have ever thought he loved you?
Nobody could love you
You tricked him into thinking you were normal.
And now he's found out what are you now,
Where are you now?
Alone.
You're too fat, too ugly, too pointless to be ever loved.
Just.
Give up.

Sometimes I am happy.
Others I am not.
For months at a time I can live, be ecstatic, fly on wings of garbled joy.
And then it'll come.

Burying me alive.
Killing me.
Tight, snatching fingers pulling me down.
Reminding me I can never be like them.
Never be normal.

Live becomes death and death becomes life.
A reliant cycle.

And now, as I stare at myself through blinds of lipstick writing,
Hollow eyes,
Thin lips,
Pale face.
Pale like the brow of dawn.

I know. I am me.
That's all I'll ever be.
But I need help. And I can have help.

If I let it.

I am me.
That's all I'll ever be.