I hate it when people say they understand me.
Like they really know what I am going through and who I am.
They don't understand why I cut myself unless they've done it too.
They don't understand what attempting suicide feels like unless they've attempted it too.
They don't understand what depression feels like unless they've felt it too.
They don't understand why I isolate myself unless they've been alone too.
They don't understand my eating disorders unless they've had it too.
They don't understand me.
And they never will.
Because they're not me.
And they never will be.
YOU ARE READING
I am a Victim
Short StoryYou may say, "I don't see any cuts." But why would I cut where you can see?
