I want to start off by saying; I care about you a whole lot. Because I know more than anyone, that you don't give two fucks about yourself right now. You'd rather see yourself bleed than see yourself eat — and that breaks my heart baby girl. I want to see you eat more than I want to see the cage that binds you in your mortal prison.
I know the guilt she makes you feel, I know how unfair it seems. I know how you can't fathom keeping down a bite, so full off of that guilt. But liquid goes down fine, it even numbs the ever-present, piercing thoughts. I know you're scared of him and his thunderous, threatening voice, his ominous, looming frame: But you make it go away.
Yes. You.
But take the letters. Oh, my fucking god, will you wish you had remembered to take the box of letters from your grandmother, and the first copy of The Rocky Horror Picture Show that you ever watched, you'll miss that too.
Stop forcing yourself to throw up. You won't be able to stop one day and you'll wish you were dead. You will live through organ rupture, abandonment, neglect, abuse, misunderstanding, self inflicted harm and rape. And you will see the light on the other end of the tunnel.
His name is Ronald. And he will show you what it feels like to be accepted — nay, adored — simply for all of the quirks that you have to offer, all of the little catch-of-the-eye tendencies you never could see in yourself. You will get to experience all of the magic that you ever dreamed of.
If you just hold on.
Yours Truly
