A serrated, rusty knife twisted inside my body, the pain almost too much to bear, but I could cope, I always did. Once again, I'd taken too many laxatives, and they threw my body into turmoil. It felt like my body was going to fall apart, which technically, it was. My matchstick body drew up into a sitting position, and even that hurt me. I had to do my school work, because it was due in tomorrow, but I didn't know if my body or my mind could take such a task. My mind kept wandering, fighting temptation, fighting the desire to give in; simply fighting. So here I am, stuck between two worlds; the dead and the living. I was merely a ghost within my own right, a ghost drowning in her own obsession, with a scattered mind and a broken body; here I am.
My numb fingers gripped the pen with as much force as I could muster, yet it still slipped through them, and onto my wooden floor. This was not what I needed.
My attempt to pick it up only ended in tears streaming down my face, so I stuck with my pencil, which I had a grip on.
I wouldn't go into school tomorrow. I'd fake an illness, or just exaggerate the one I already had. I'd lie in bed all day; away from food.