I lost all my friends because of my anorexia. I felt so alone that by the time I was 17, I tried to kill myself by swallowing a bunch of pills. The pathetic truth is that I knew those 30 pills wouldn't kill me. Deep down, I just wanted to see if they would kill whatever was inside of me.
I’ve learned to shut it all off, and do my best to hide how truly sensitive I am. No one gets to see that side of me, and I’m strangely proud of it. Maybe I’m healed, right? Maybe all I had to do was learn to shut my emotions off, and the psychiatrists did nothing. It’s comfortable being numb, and I don't pity myself. I was born broken, and I love who I am today because of that.