No one sees or understands why I am so upset. They expect me to differentiate between big blows to my self-esteem and little one’s I can easily leap over. But I can’t tell. I can’t feel the difference between a pinch on the arm and a punch in the gut. It all feels the same. It all feels like crying, and cutting, and bruising, and starving. It all feels like late nights and over thinking, early mornings paralyzed in bed.
I don’t want help. I don’t want to be forced into therapy. I don’t want to fill this little human mold of “normal.” I’m not meant to be healthy, happy, whatever the fuck you want me to be. I’m meant to be this and this is me.
