had i never told you e x p l i c i t l y that i wanted to be dead c o n t i n u o u s l y throughout that year? does my gratitude seem s u p e r f l u o u s if my disorder was never too d a n g e r o u s despite my self-starvation? it was not otherwise specified, according to doctors certified, but hey, they say i could’ve died. and on that afternoon, i lied when i said i didn’t know why, why i was so fucking terrified— it was a vice to cope with my e x i s t e n c e, exactly like my excessive p e r s i s t e n c e to find and bend your ear. throughout that year i traded d e p e n d e n c i e s to delay or distract me from my t e n d e n c i e s toward forbidden ideations. at first i took great pains to hide my punishment for rules defied: superficial slashes sleeves belied. but once i was dead enough inside i cared not about any eyes outside: was blood not better than suicide? you once asked if you needed to have me c o m m i t t e d, and then one day i told you someone already d i d i t. i think that’s when you disappeared. i get it if your absence was self- p r e s e r v a t i o n, and despite a decade you still have h e s i t a t i o n to hold just one more conversation with me.