And I can feel every ounce.
And it disgusts me, more than I can even put into words.
My mind is fucking with me, it embeds things that I know cannot be possibly true, but it makes me believe them. But they are not even lies about my body. They are lies that I would give anything to be true.
So sometimes I let myself believe them, when I get really sad. I will let myself escape in them.
So now I must go and cut into my leg to try and distinguish weather I actually am real or not...