I want to cry and scream and hurt you the way you hurt me, Mom. Why is it that the only time you complement me or act like you care, you are about to ask me to eat? If I say no, you are angry and lecture me. I feel manipulated. You play with my feelings everyday. I want to feel like you love me. I am a disappointment to you. You resent me. Nothing I ever do will be good enough. You might be happy for a moment if I eat something you choose, but after a couple hours, there’ll be more criticisms flowing from your mouth. I can never do anything exactly right in your eyes. It feels like a knife in my stomach. Every look of disgust, every belittling comment twists the blade. It’s been this way my whole life, before the eating disorder. I love you. Why can’t you love me?