I Know You.
I know you.
You're the girl who seems to have it all together.
Maybe you're super smart. Maybe you're a cheerleader. Maybe you're the perfect daughter or best friend ever or the girl that everyone envies.
But they don't know you. They know what brand your clothes are, they know what you and your boyfriend did last night, they know your test grade.
But they don't know you like I do. They don't know how you fake smile and laugh through the day, they don't know that you cry yourself to sleep every night, that your entire mood depends on the number that pops up on the scale.
Maybe you stick your finger down your throat, and watch as the worries of the day come back up. Or maybe you're a real pro at faking sick to get out of meals, getting that high when you go a day without eating. I've been victim, and am victim, to both of those.
And trust me when I say it's not worth it. No, don't roll your eyes, saying I couldn't possibly understand. Because, guess what? I do. I understand the pain and the agony, I understand the highs and the hollow victories that are so short-lived. I understand it better than you do. Wanna know how I know this? Because you're still blind, oblivious to the torture you're putting yourself through. I, on the other hand, see very clearly. But I'm trapped. I can't get out.
So, you're not alone. Don't think you are.
Because, guess what?
I know you.