I am left with no words when the mirror yells back

 

All of my faults.

 

All in one frame

 

I walk into class, all too aware of the snickering and teasing roaring to life as I take a seat.

 

As if I didn't know.

 

As if your side comments were a public service announcement letting any innocent bystander know that their life is in danger.

 

Do you think that I like to look like this?

 

Do you think I like to suck in my stomached every time I pose for a picture?

 

You don't even know.

 

You don't.

 

You don''t know that skipping meals has become second nature.

 

That binging is a tradition, and purging a ritual.

 

That I have become close friends with the white dinged tile that covers the bathroom floor.

 

That laxatives are a way to cover up the frequent "sick," excuses.

 

They thought I was pregnant.

 

I don't know what is more absurd.

 

The fact that they could think that I would be so foolish as to let myself get bigger, or the fact that someone would want to have sex with me.

 

This isn't a cry for help, it is a Declaration of Independence.

 

I don't need the help of someone who could care less.

 

What I need is someone to simply notice.

 

Someone who paid the same amount of attention that they do to their phone, to me. 

 

But you don't care.