If you met me you'd have no goddamn idea that I suffer from depression, anxiety, self-mutilation, or extreme body image disorder. You wouldn't know that I cry myself too sleep, and practically choke so I don't make any noises whilst my family peacefully sleeps. You wouldn't know that I hate every inch of my fucking body. That I hate the way I look and act. That the words I think in my head stay permanently etched into my skin. That I sit alone and ponder whether too end it all or just stay still. You wouldn't know how hard it is too act like the world is fun and I'm happy too be in it. But then you'll look in my eyes and see they don't match my smile. You'll see the fear and sadness and anger. You'll never understand what I've been through, so ignore it love because if you bring it up. I may have too fly away into my land of sadness where you'll never see me again.
