• My heart starts pounding.
    The sweat starts dripping down my face.
    Soaked to the point of being cold,
    I am loud and proud.

    When people say that I have done well,
    I am loud and proud.
    I tend to be smug.
    I like it when I am right.
    I hate it when I am wrong.

    When I help someone,
    I feel as if I am soaring.
    When I please someone,
    I feel as if my wings have grown.

    When I displease someone,
    It unnerves me.
    I do not like it one bit.
    I want to whine and cry about it.

    When I see the number on the scale,
    When my clothes fit just a little bit more loosely than yesterday,
    I am loud and proud.
    I like to brag.
    I like to say, “Oh, look what I did!”
    I feel so big and so important.
    Something so tiny turns into something so big.

    When I make the slice,
    Deeper and deeper,
    Longer and longer,
    I am standing on the roof of the tallest building.
    Knowing it is wrong,
    I still do it.

    When something comes up,
    Someone else falls,
    I like to jump in.
    I like to pick up where that person left off.

    I like to avoid the trouble I tend to cause.
    Maybe it is a part of me.
    Maybe I am sneaky like that.
    You will never know.

    I thrive on this kind of thing.
    It truly is sickening.
    There is nothing I can do.
    I can stop it, but there is no point.
    I do not want to stop it.
    I am too afraid to stop it.
    What will be left of me without trouble?

    This is one addiction I cannot comprehend.
    This is one addiction that leaves me clueless.
    I am in shock.
    I cannot believe I am genuinely like this.

    Be aware of this mean spirit of mine.
    It strikes when we all least expect it.
    I can lie.
    I do not like the truth.
    A lie is more interesting than the truth.

    I am loud and proud about this.
    I simply do not care.
    Everything is shoved aside.
    This is my addiction.
    This is my thing I have going for me.

    I take the pill and drink the wine.
    I have myself trapped.
    These chains refuse to unhand me.
    My soul is rotting away within my flesh.

    I am truly a hateful human being.
    Maybe I no longer have that privilege,
    The privilege to be called a human being.
    I no longer feel like one.
    I am the failed, scorned, artistic woman.
    There is nothing like those kinds.

    Do not reach your hand out to me.
    I do not need saving.
    I am sick.
    I am truly sick.
    My head is not screwed on properly.
    I should care about things.
    I know I should.