deliver me, from being perfect and complete

breakfast. big lunch. snacks. more snacks. unneeded calories.

i walk into the bathroom. take of my clothes and turn on the shower. waiting for the water to warm, i pull out my scale and lay it flat on the floor, in line with the same black tile as always. i step on, fearing what number i'll see. how will the rest of my day play out? everything relies on this number. i look at my feet. between my toes is a big red number. staring at me. 124.5 it mocks. i step off. dont dare to step on again, fearing it will creep up on me. my eyes find the mirror. the shower is warm. but the mirror holds my gaze. i see one-hundred-twenty-four written all over my body. for a moment i accept it. feeling helpless to change. i am weak. i grab a towel and my razor and get ready to step in the warm fall of water. but im stop myself. i look around for a scissors. to my luck there is one next to my brush. i take the scissors, and kneel on the floor. careful not to slice my fingers open i use the scissors to pry the cheap plastic of my razor, from the blades. snap. and the three silver strips of thin metal fall to the floor. i pick up one that i didnt bend from the pressure of the scissors, and my heart drops to my stomach. i can feel the blood pounding in my head. its been two years. i promised i would never do it again. last time i was so close to getting stitches. i look down. look at the rolls coating my bones, laughing at me. i decide against the inside flesh of my arms. i dont want to open old scars and memories. i push the small strip of cool metal against the out side of my forearm. i feel no pain. so i slowly drag the strip in a smooth line from the left, to the right of my arm. my heart aches as i realize my skin does nothing to stop the blade. it gives so easily. im scared. this will end badly. i always go too far. i lift and repeat. lift and repeat. a few more until i realize blood is dripping on the floor. relapse. im not sure if this is what i need. 124.5 is out of hand. i need to fucking take control. so i am. this is not oh-fucking-kay. i climb in the shower, and the water burns my sliced flesh. i hope this hurts tomorrow. things are looking up. this is what ana wants.