When I was 9 years old I asked my mum what bulimia was and she said “it’s when models throw up after they eat because they want to be skinny, but still love food.” I remember it sounded so logical!
When I was 6 I saw white marks on my mum’s hands and she said she’s got stitches after she fell off a bike. The lines were straight and parallel on her wrists. I used to say I would never go clubbing because my dad left the family as he couldn’t give up his part lifestyle for me.
When my mother was 16 she ran away from home and shaved her head. I remember thinking not so much “that’s crazy,” but how ugly.
Now I’m 17. I look in the mirror and I see a short-haired girl, with thighs covered in thin white parallel marks that definitely didn’t come from falling off a bike.
My hands are constantly shaking because of my malnutrition.
I live 7000 miles away from home and have been for 7 years. I go out nearly every night.
Last year my mother was diagnosed with schizophrenia. In a chase to be less like her, I am a lonely teen covered in scars with bulimia, depression, addicted to Prozac and alcohol.
Don’t try to ever not be someone, be you.