"No," I whispered to myself. No thirteen year old should have to endure this. I typed the fastest I could, begging him not to. Him? Her? Them. Begging them not to do it. Tears had already stained my cheeks and pillow case, I'd known this feeling all too well. Each night, the walls would close in, it's become hard to breathe, and I'd end up begging. Begging for them not to harm their self, begging them not to call me a hypocrite when I thought of doing just what I begged them not to do.
"Why me?" Every night, threats, tears. Every night, empty promises.
Oh the anxiety. This is much, much deeper than self-image issues.
