Today I had children.

Violent thoughts rip out of my metaphorical womb.
"Pick me! Pick me!"
Each one promises to make me happy.
"Everything will be better if you just punch a hole through that wall."
"Hurt that girl. She causes you so much emotional pain, she deserves some physical pain from you. It's only fair."
"No, no. Don't hurt another person. Hurt yourself. Cut! You'll feel better."
"Don't you dare cut unless it's the last time. Cutting gets you nowhere."
"So just kill yourself."
My mother calls me down to dinner. Sitting at the table with my naive siblings, manic stepfather, and wounded mother, my green beans taste of defeat. Obsession sets in. I cut up the meat substitute - it makes 22 pieces. I count each bean as I eat it. One, two, three. I rip up the bread, and chug my glass of water. Done. Excusing myself gives me power. Ha! I can leave when I want to! I don't have to eat if I don't want to! My churning stomach purrs.
"Good girl." Whispers one of the voices.
"Shut the fuck up!" I scream at her, running to my room. I flop down on the beautiful bed I don't deserve. "Shut up, shut up, shut up." I repeat.
The rest of my violent children gather round. One takes a knife and slits my stomach.
"There. No one will see it. You will carry a secret scar. A secret reminder."
"Perhaps some fat will spill out." Hisses the one that called me good.
"Keep this scar as a reminder, that you are not good enough yet. You will always have us with you." Murmurs one.
As my blood comes to the surface of my skin in beads, they drink it. It gives them life. It feels ironic.
I put my fingers in the blood and make a mess. I look at my dirty finger tips and smile. Dear God, I hope no one hears me laugh my ass off while I whisper to myself, "It looks like I fucking killed someone."