TherapyTherapy.It's to help the mind deal with your body and soul.The abuse has torn my insides along with the outside.Bringing up the past that was thought to be buried alive.I don't want the medicine again, it's poisonous.Bring me into a field and have me tear my soul apart until I can't breath anymore.Have me feel the ecstasy of my brain bingeing on the memories.The thoughts that rip threw my agony like a silver bullet aimed right for my heart.As it hits, my mind implodes. The Dust settles and the brain dies.Therapy will cure the agony and erase the abuse.Empty out all the trash put into my mind.God help me.
Perfect?You think I'm so perfect. You look at me and see this blonde haired, thin girl.I see something different. You think there is nothing wrong with me. All I need is to eat more right? You shoved food down my throat so I'd be fat like you. It wasn't my fault that you were insecure. I look at myself naked in the mirror pointing out everything wrong. My hair could be thicker and longer with no dead ends. My nose could be smaller and I could have less fat under my chin that you put there. My stomach could be flatter and boobs bigger. My butt could be more filled out with no cellulite. Vaginas are weird. When I feel my bones I panic because I don't know what that lump is. I hate the sound of a heartbeat when I can hear it and feel it constantly because I'm tired. I'm so out of shape but you wouldn't know. Forcing me to eat all that junk food no wonder I find it breathtaking to climb stairs. I've never worn braces but they could be straighter, some say so should my orientation. So tell me, am