I’m someone who’s mostly dead inside but still has a little hope for something extraordinary, which, as I said, is the worst breed of human, because it means I know everything is bullshit, but that I secretly hope for the day when it might not be.
YOU’RE SIX YEARS OLD and your smile is too wide and your afraid of absolutely nothing and your family watches as you race around the yard with an energy that could fuel entire cities.
YOU’RE TEN YEARS OLD and the things that were once important to you become replaced with unnecessary possessions and you begin to wonder why you never looked like the girls on magazine covers and your mom tells you to not eat seconds unless you want to get fat because that is unacceptable.
YOU’RE FOURTEEN YEARS OLD and labels begin to mean everything and you throw yourself into things with a hope to shed a few pounds but still you stay the same and it drives you so crazy you turn to matches and blades and worst of all words that cut through your brain like silent killers in the dark hours of the night.
YOU’RE SIXTEEN YEARS OLD and made of skin and bone and the smile that once made up your face is gone for good and your body is littered in scars that won’t go away because every time you look in the mirror you hate yourself a little more and everything that you once loved now means nothing to you because you don’t have the energy to do it anyway.
YOU’RE SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD and your mom encourages you to take a bite but the sight of food makes you absolutely sick to the stomach you’ve been destroying since you started all this and suddenly she wishes that she had told you all those years ago how truly beautiful you really were and maybe if you had grown up without judgement you wouldn’t have wound up dead by your eighteenth birthday but you did.