"live up to what society makes of you," she said.
"I'M NOT A FUCKING WHORE!"
"I WILL NEVER BE THAT GOD DAMN SLUT YOU WANT ME TO BE!" I quickly exclaimed.
"don't take the tone with me you good for nothing skank."
i slammed the door in her face.

she doesn't deserve to have me as a daughter.
I thought to myself.
she doesn't understand why I am the way I am. Why can't she realize that i'm not the tramp she is and wants me to be?



I could hear the soft whimpers of her crying thru the paper thin walls. She deserves everything she gets. I'm no skank, no tramp, no whore, no fucking sl-. no quicker than i can finish my sentence she blazes thru the door.

"and another thing young lady what makes you think that you can talk to me the way you do?"
i don't say a thing, but blantly stare at her with disgust.
quickly i can't hear anything at all. i see her mouth moving, but don't hear a word.
tears drip from her eyes, and spit shoots out from her mouth. i just sit there, with a blank stare on my face but inside i'm crying.
the moment the door shuts, i'm on the floor.

many things run thru my head like a train that blazes of it's track killing the thousands of people inside. a slow and painful death.
bullmia, anorexia, even pica seem as the way out. she wants me to be what i'm not. maybe she's right. but what is so wrong with who i am? why doesn't she love me? what did i ever do to her?

that night at dinner i eat. when i say i eat, i mean i really eat, i eat more than i can, more than i ever have. without time for my mother to question my habits i run to my room. with my food still half chewed in my mouth, i browse thru my drawers looking for something. for something long, thin, something like a pencil. i cry into my hands just realizing that my finger will work just fine. i slam the bathroom door hoping that my mother doesn't think anything of it. i hunch over my toilet. flushing it once, praying it will drown out the noise. i shove my finger to the back of my throat. once, nothing happens. twice, it just hurts. the pain is somewhat satifying. then it comes. faster than i imagined.

then my world seized to flow. the smell of the neiman marcus tester perfume leaked under my door to my nostrils. it was my mother. standing there with her make-up smeared but not one hair out of place. her fake arcrylic nails tapping quietly on my door in response to the strange noises coming from my bathroom. without notice she opened the door.


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