Purging is disgusting. Your nose runs and there is vomit all over everything. Your face is within inches of what ever toilet is around. If there is no toilet, you will take what is available--out back behind the barn, in your trash can, wherever. Your knuckles will bleed. Your throat will burn and bleed in due time. Your stomach will cramp. Eventually, your stomach will learn to vomit on cue and you will be sick, whether you want to be or not after every meal. You will eat only when you know you can purge. You will think about food all the time. You will gain some sick sense of pride in your ability to purge on command. What in god's name gets me to continue doing so?
Blood, on the other hand, holds some mysterious beauty. You will hate yourself for it, but you will be intrigued by the ribbons of red warmness. They will sooth your anxiety. They will bring you back from the depths of depression. The sting will bring you back from the edge of suicide. Over and over again. You will be very ashamed however. Long sleeves and long pants always. Foundation all over your arms to try as hard as you can to make the scars invisible. You, however, will always see the lines screaming at you. You will love it and want it, as much as you hate it.
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