My father is constantly reminding me I’m fat.

He says I’m getting bigger. It triggers me, makes me want to cut even though the scale tells me I’ve lost 10kg in 26 days. Surely it’s broken.

He’s the one (along with classmates) that made my ed appear in the first place. Once at 12, I asked him why my left knee hurt, he answered “that’s because your knees can’t hold your own weight”. I will always remember that. He also used to call me fat, obese. Once he said I looked disgusting. If I had a daughter, I would NEVER, EVER, say something like that to her. 

Oh well, I can’t blame him. I was HUGE. 

Then the classmates. They made everyday a living hell.

Thank you for this wonderful 5 years of anorexia and bulimia. Thank you for making become a cutter. Thank you for all the traumas. Thank you for making the supposedly amazing teen years become a nightmare. Thank you for this social phobia, for the fear of being left behind. Thank you for making me grow paranoia. Thank you for the suicidal thoughts.

Thank you for all, I probably deserved it.