I hate you.

It's taken me years but I finally said it.

I hate you.

I hate how you are able to make me feel about myself.

You make me pinch at my sides desperately praying that this tissue will go away.

I hate you.

You make me wonder about how much money I need to save for plastic surgery.

I hate you.

You make me question if throwing up would actually be a good idea.

I hate you.

You make me end every night in tears, huddled in bed, crying. 

So, this is necessary.

I hate you.

I had to say it. 

I had to purge it. 

I needed you to know, so that you would finally leave me alone.

Why? You ask. 

What do I hate about you? 

I hate how you look at my face with disgust, as if my very presence were a crime.

I hate how you poke at my double chin and pinch my cheeks asking me if I should really eat that week.

I hate how you question everything I say.

So I won't even speak.

You are so stupid, you shake your head at me laughing, embarressed that I thought I was smart.

I study harder, convinced that you're right and I can't do it.

You are so ugly, you tell me.

I taught myself to do make up, but it didn't help.

You are so fat, you sneer.

I quit eating and it didn't help.

In the end, this was you or me.

This time, I choose me.

Because you had broken me.

I'd try not to leave my house because I know you'll be there and I can't handle you.

But now I'm done.

I'm so tired.

Incredibly tired.

Miserably tired.

I can't make you happy, so I'm just going to say it.

I hate you.

Admitting that I hated you to myself was the first step of healing, I decided.

Getting rid of you was going to make me happy.

Getting rid of you would make me smile.

So, I had to say it, I hate you.

I hate you.

I hate you.

I hate you, I scream frantically fed up for the final time as you look at me in shock

I hate you, I sob out trying desperately to calm down as you wonder what you did wrong when you thought were only trying to help..

I hate you, I whisper, completely spent from the emotional turmoil that you have put me through for years.

You walked away, understanding that it was over.

I hate you.

Then I walked away from the mirror.