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My Friend and the pressure of society to be thin

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posted on Mar, 8 2005 @ 12:12 AM
As I sat, transfixed on my knees, in my cold bare bedroom, I could hear him screaming at her. His voice was so loud that my head began to throb even more than it already was. If even possible. The small ray of light coming in through my curtains seemed to be screaming too. My eyes strained against the pain. This wasn't the first time, no. Not even the second, or the third. I've lost count along the years. The twinge of my CD player sounded and the song I had on low (so he couldn't hear it) stopped. I waited a few seconds thoughtless for the next song. As it softly came into the air around me I pulled my knees closer to my chest.

The sting of a forming bruise on my chest made me wince slightly. I didn't dare lift up my #, I've noticed over the years anything painful becomes even more painful when you look at it. I licked my lips, the blood mingling with my saliva. It wasn't metallic-y like most people's blood. Mine was sweet, almost like sugar. My doctor told me it was my lack of iron in my body. The lack of food in my body daily, makes me walk around like a waif of a boy. I'm seventeen and obsessed with seeing my bones through my skin. My body hung over the porcelin toilet, fingers pressed into the back of my throat. Im getting high off of being empty.

The smash of a beer bottle sends shivers down my spine. He's moving along to her now. He's finished with me for the night. Now he'll get his kicks from her. From hearing her scream beaneth him. The sight of me lying on the floor, my hands covering my face, and his fists raised in the air wasn't enough. I was never enough. I can smell the beer on my shirt, he must have spilled it sometime between yelling at me and kicking me. Lord knows, it's hard to do those things with a bottle in your hand. Oh the difficult tasks he must go through daily. The horror. The #ing horror of it all. I bet he feels just dandy about all of this. About how strong he is, towering above us both. We're so small, so.. fragile.

I can hear her crying now, and I so badly want to move into the next room, pull my arms around her tight (but not too tight) and just hold her. Tell her everything will be okay. I wish he would just leave. What was keeping him here? It sure as hell wasn't love. I know she wouldn't let him leave, she would cry, beg for him to stay. Tell him it was allher fault. She hated being alone. I learned the hard way that no matter how much you hate being alone, at the end of nights like these.. you pray for your solitude. Pray for the silence. But, mostly I pray for love. I must lose this flesh, so thick. My eyes are closing to this world. For then I shall be safe. No one will see my insufficiencies. Am I capable of being loved? Certainly not adored. What is adoration anyway, when my skin is so impure?

I crave for someone to look at me with anything but hate and disapointments in their eyes. I've grown a fear over the years, of men. How funny is that? Im afraid of my own sex. How would I ever find a boyfriend, if im too afraid to let him touch me? I was 14 when I realized I had an attraction to men, and I was 15 when my father realized it. A few days later I had landed in the hospital with a broken rib, iternal bleeding and was in a coma. While in the coma they fed me in tubes, and I had gained 20 pounds. A month later all my father could say was 'You wouldn't be fat if you liked girls.' I was a fat gay failure. That's what I was. And I had accepted it over the years. I had become obsessed with loosing all the weight, and anything else possible afterwards. I was tired of being so #ing disgusting. I wish I could just.. be normal. I wish I was happy in my own skin.

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