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How dear brother do you know how it is to be broken,
without hope for being fixed in the future?
If I take pills I become another person entirely
and therapy has not ever been enough.
If left alone, I shall not be around long.
I shall get my wish come true,
but never,
shall I become well.
People say that it is treatable and not a real curse,
but it is.
It is the pain of fighting ones self on the most basic level:
LIFE.
There are days I think I am better then it is worse than ever.
There are times I eat easy and pleasure is natural,
then the punishment is swift for forgetting my place.
How canst thou say that I do not have a real disease?
How can they shrug me off like I am exaggerating?
They do not know.
They say they know, but they are mistaken.
They are children who claim to know the love of a mother.
They are elders who assure the youth their pain is naught.
My pain is real.
My sins are too full to bear.
My guilt overbearing,
I shall drown in it.
So how can they say that I am well.
How can they say that it is my fault for not improving?

I have called hotlines and gone to meetings. I have changed my ways and gone to therapy, which I looked up all on my own and found out how to get covered outside of my parents so they would never need to know about it. I confronted my parents when the situation was dire. I have asked for friends to help me. None followed through to help me. No parent locked me away. They trusted me with this of all things when I would not have come to them if it was not a plea for aide, secretly.

This is merely a vent of lost feelings. Do not ask about this later. Do not comment.