I kept myself alive

"Why can't you do anything right?!" My frustrated mother is yelling at me. I'm sick of it, I come to the point where I don't care. "I just wanted you to be home earlier! Is that too much to ask?! It's just so simple, why can't you just do it?!"

"Why do you have to be such an annoyance?" I sigh, I'm so over this. "I tried getting here as soon as possible, but knowing you'll be breathing down my neck made me even more stressed. You're the last thing I want to come home to." Maybe saying this isn't the best, but I've stopped caring. The sooner I move out, the better.

My mother gives out a frustrated scream, "UGH! I'm your MOTHER! Why can't you treat me with some respect for once?!"

Now I'm the one sighing, "Because it's like you would always tell me. 'Respect isn't given, it's earned.' You would constantly tell me I didn't earn it by not doing enough chores. Chores has nothing to do with respect. If you want respect, then maybe you should earn it. Because I'm tired of you."

My mom looks crazy now. I thought she already snapped. I guess I'm wrong. I know what she's going to do next, but I can't defend myself. Even if it'd be in self-defense, I could never justify it with myself, I would constantly tell myself what I did was wrong. But I'm never happy. In fact, it makes me angry at myself. Angry for not being able to just stand up not only for myself but to myself.

For once she doesn't scream, but she does what I expected. She slaps me. It's nothing new, she's done it before. She told me the next day that I deserved it. Do I deserve to be hit just for trying to stand up for myself? To stand up for what I believe in?

"YOU ARE MY REGRETS! I WISH YOU WERE NEVER BORN! But unlike YOU, I don't plan on slaughtering innocent babies! I CHOSE to keep you alive. And for what?! I don't deserve this!" And again, she slaps me. I don't care though, I'm used to this.

"I chose to keep myself alive too," I shoot down her sentences, her words of hate. "and where did that get me? Back to you. I wish I was never born too, but that wasn't my choice. All you want is control, and you have it. Are you happy now?" I walk away from her. She's still screaming at me, but unlike the other times, she doesn't chase me down. It's almost like she's stopped trying too. It's almost relieving.

I walk into my room and lock the door. There's a bathroom connected to my room and I start to get changed into my pajamas. I look at myself, shirtless. I look ugly and fat. I weigh myself again. I've lost a lot of weight for one day, that's good. Maybe in about a week, I'll eat food normally again. I'll still be drinking water to survive and eating one meal a day, but that's it. I won't puke up my one meal every day, just every other day. Then I realized something. I told her I kept myself alive. Am I still doing that? Am I killing myself slowly? Is this good for me to do? I don't know who I can go to for answers. I don't think I'll ever be able to get myself to confess how I've really been. Why am I like this?