The effects of suicide on family and friends.
You can’t just give them one thing and then give me another. When I try to make the same thing you’d yell at me, forbidding me from eating it. I’d understand if you’d just say you were saving it for them, they’re young and whatnot. But I can tell that you just don’t want me to eat like them because I’m still fat and haven’t lost enough weight for you. It makes me upset and I’d rather not eat anything whatsoever but then you’d make yet another dish and invite me for a bite. I’d decline and you’d threaten me saying I might as well starve myself if I can’t appreciate your hard work and all this other dumb shit. The funny thing is that whenever there are leftovers you’d shy away not wanting to eat them and gain weight forcing me to eat it and guilt tripping me, practically threatening me to finish it all. And yet, you call me fat.
You know what? I might as well accept it at this point. It’s not even that bad, I have a pot belly is all. Sure, I look like I’m three months pregnant with my stomach out and thin ass arms but fuck you if you’re gonna be a ***** about it