Not being me.

The me who has a problem with food is fragile.
She longs to be protected.
She does not speak.
She hides away and has been invisible for years.

The me that others know.
The me that acts and covers her trembles. She is strong.
She has survived. She can conquer the world.
She speaks in harsh tones and scares people.
She takes the stage and performs with her hands in her pockets.

I block the fragile me.
I see her as weak.
I am embarrassed of her voice and her teeth-dented fingers.
I fear the me that speaks in harsh tones. I do not like her voice.

I am crumbling inside.

I feel that I have to act.
I can not show my weakness.
I can not be me.
To let the me who has problems with food speak.
To hear my voice.
Is to be less perfect.
Is to show weakness.

I strive to be good at everything that I do.
I strive to cover the huge crack that splits me in two.

I need to admit that I have a problem.
But.
If I do.
Then who will run the fastest.
People only know me.
They don't know me.

I fear the gossip and the judgement.
But.
Not being me is exhausting.

I don't want people to know.
Not even you.