"Why are you even doing this?"

You HONESTLY think YOU are qualified to tell me I'm doing this for a reason? Willfully? That I even ever had a choice? Do you think you know what this feels like? Try waking up every morning hating every bone in your body. Try screaming inside every time you see your reflexion. Do you think it's pleasant, when everything you do is a contradiction? Do you think it's nice, when every move is a struggle between your body and your mind? When every second of every minute of every day, there's a voice in your head that whisperscreams you're a stupid, gross and fat loser? Have you ever had to deal with the constant urge to drive a knife through your chest, watch your blood drip to the floor, and step out of your skin? Is your strongest desire to feel your bones rip through your skin and to fade away until you disappear? I didn't think so. But once you live all of that, and you have someone whom in some crazy dellusion you thought you could trust come up and ask you why you're doing this, then and only then, come and tell me I chose this.