I'm not as nearly as strong as you think. I'm literally hanging by a thread.
I put on this act to my boyfriend, Blaine, that I'm this confident and strong person. I used to be able to tell the truth to him. But, the truth sometimes isn't always the best.

I glance at my reflection in the mirror. There is nothing I like about this reflection. The smile I put on is fake. I feel so helpless. My body is disgusting. If I look at any food with any desire, I automatically tell myself no. 
Ever since I've had this disorder, I've devolved more of a recluse life. I want to be by myself all the time. I pull away from any chance of a friend I get. I more and more distant from Blaine everyday.
I grab the scale from under Blaine & I's bed. 
Step on, twinkle my toes and..
113.5 - BMI 18
I look at the scale with disgust.
I had gained two pounds. How is this possible, I have been fasting the past five days. I reject any food Blaine offers me. He's clueless to what is going on or maybe he is just denying the fact that I'm bulimic and anorexic. 
I purge anything I do eat. What's the point of eating anything of it just ends up in a trash can or a toilet. I'm like a data table.
Why does Blaine even like me? I'm nothing but an ugly and fat girly boy. I'm nothing to him. 
In one way I want to keep this my dirty little secret but then I want him to know. I want to tell him everything. I guess I just need someone to talk to. Dear Journal, 
Lies can protect us.Lies keep us safe from the truth. 
I only write somewhat of a poem or a phrase that I made in every journal entry. Nothing to revealing just in case if Blaine finds it. He will never find out my dirty little secret. 
The blade slides across my wrist as the flesh reveals. The blood flows down my wrists, I don't wipe it off. I just stare. In a state of shock. How have I become this? Suddenly in my state, I used the blade and write FAT in big letters down my left arm.  I  sever my wrists when ever I gain anything. It's a punishment to myself.  
You get to this point, where you feel so empty, so desolate, so alone, so broken, that nothing can really help you. I'm at that point now. 
FAT
UGLY
The sound of my own voice keeps me up at night. 
The bright yellow sun shines in my eyes as I stretch. Beautiful morning. I'm hungry. Avoid it. No you aren't, Kurt.
"Hey, babe. I made pancakes want some?" Blaine says with joy in his eyes.
I wish I had that.
"No, it's fine." 
Why am I not happy? I have a amazing and beautiful boyfriend. A big condo and an amazing career. What is wrong with me? Why do I feel this way about myself? 
"Babe, you haven't eaten in awhile. Eat something. And, why do you wear all those bulky clothes? Sure, there fashionable and in style but it's almost summer." Blaine says with worry.
"It's just cause I like to warm. And, I ate something earlier. Before you got up." I lied.
He nods with disbelief.
I can tell he already knows. He has already made multiple remarks about the leftover chunks in the toilet. Always make the "I was sick" card. I've been more careful now. Do the double flush. Always a charm.
I pop open my journal on the kitchen table. Turn to blank page. 
Dear Journal,
I am hopeless and tired I wonder if I will ever reach my goalI hear the sound of my tears drop to the floorI see the the image of a perfect bodyI want to be skinnyI am hopeless and tired
I pretend I am someone elseI feel the blade slide across my wristsI touch the sores in my mouth I worry that nothing will ever changeI cry about the thought of that I am hopeless and tired
I understand that people say it gets better I say that it feels like its notI dream of a perfect life I try to stopI hope someone will understand I am hopeless and tired 
Today was a little more revealing but I had to let it out.
I am depressed and just have really low self esteem. I tell myself all these things that I shouldn't be telling myself. It's only bad for me.
I slide over to the closet and hide my journal between the mountain of clothes. Find the bulkiest clothes I could find and jump out of the door.
My co-workers just think I'm stressed. So, they think that's the reason why I haven't been eating. I work as a fashion designer by the way. I love it. I "accidentally" put my fingers under the sewing machines at times to feel something. 
As soon as I go home, I rush to the closet. This journal is my escape, so I can get out my feelings.
Dear Journal,
When I tell people I am fine, what is really happening in my mind..
FatInsecureNot good enoughEmotional
I slip it back under the pile.
Since Blaine is not home this is my time to binge and then purge it later. I love the binging part and the purging actually isn't too bad. It makes me feel like I'm getting slimmer chunk by chunk as they spill out. 
I grab the cookie and munch on it hastily. And then another and another. I run to the fridge and eat everything in plain sight. 
I grab a toothbrush and shove it down my troat. 
I flush. Whoosh. 
I look in the mirror and you can see my ribs and back bones. Why is the only thing I see is a fat boy.