Recovery

Note To Every Teenage Girl

When your best friend tells you all she had for breakfast was a packet of Splenda and a Diet Coke, and she tells you that she'll stop after she loses 5 pounds, do not believe her. Tell her mother. It does not matter how angry your friend gets. The pain of that will always be preferable to the pain of seeing your best friend in 4 years weighing as mush as she does, now half-dead in the hospital.

When your father sneaks into your bed in the dead of the night, and tells you that this is how fathers love their daughters, do not believe him. Tell your English teacher. She will have read millions of stories of girls like you. There is one in six chance that she will be a girl like you. There is a five in six chance that she will know what to say to you. There is a six in six chance that she will help you.

When your veins whisper to you in the moonlight and say that there are so many nightmares inside you that could be free if you would just open your arms, do not believe them. Tell your school guidance counselor, no matter how scared you are because whisperers are liars, and opening your arms will only open the passage for more nightmares to climb in.

And when the therapists say that you are better, totally better, and you don't need to worry about the sadness again, do not believe them. Always be cautious, because sadness has a way of sneaking up on you when you're not looking. Be careful. Be careful.