As days went on, selfharming became less frequent and so did the suicidal thoughts, but anorexia began to plague my mind more then ever before. Not many noticed, really. I was good at it. I was good at fooling people. At lunch I would talk and not shut up for anything, focusing people on what interested them instead of what I put in my mouth- or lack there of.
Sometimes I wished people would notice. I didn't want to seem like an attention seeker- but I wished someone would save me from myself.
I folded my laundry as I took them out, feeling my phone buzz in my pocket. I am literally the worse procrastinator in the history of the world. I took out my phone. We were talking about guys liking me. No guy in there right mind would like me, I mean, let's me honest. An anorexic, depressive cutter? Whose fat? And ugly? And a nerd? And all whole bunch of other things. Plus the fact that I didn't really like guys all that much. I didn't like girls either. Is there a type of sexuality that means you hate everyone no matter what gender you are?
I laughed at myself as I looked to see what Abigail had said.
Me:I think I should make a book of all the reasons why guys would never like me:P
Abigail: of good reasons or bad reasons?
I snorted. Well I had typed a 'funny' face, as in, I'm joking. I was actually in a pretty good mood!
Me: what do you think:) :)
I typed in TWO smiley faces, just so she knew I was kidding.
Abigail: Emery, you have to stop criticizing yourself with me.
What did she mean? I felt my heart skip a best and then sink. It wouldn't have hurt with 'stop criticizing yourself' even though I wasn't, but the 'with me' felt like someone slapped me.
And then the argument started.
Each day I woke up with what felt like broken ribs, and I would hope that maybe, just maybe, I'd reach out my hand to feel for my phone and look and it say 'sorry, my brother stole my phone' and then we'd laugh at it, and go over to each other's houses, and watch movies, and drink tea, and be best friends again. But that didn't happen. As the week pressed on the suicidal thoughts went on, and she kept sending me the messages. 'You manipulate me.' 'But you didn't feel that way two days ago!' 'Youre bringing me down when I have to help you.' 'But you made me tell you those things!'
By the end of one week I had lost over five pounds by not doing anything at all.
This lasted for two weeks until we met up to talk about it. She ranted on about me and I sat there in silence, looking at her through rose colored glasses. I blamed myself for this, even though she made me tell her when I was sad, I blamed myself. She decided we could be friends again.