When I look in the mirror, I see a girl who is so incredibly sad. Tragically unhappy. My friends and family think I live a perfect life because I’ve learned to smile through the pain. I have mastered the ability to appear happy even when I’m not. At 18, I’ve become a phenomenal actress – showing others only what they want to see. Or what they can handle.
But the pressure to be a certain way – thin, beautiful and popular – has made me so sick. In an attempt to fit in, I have lost myself so completely. I spend my days staring down into the bowls of toilets. My insides splatter porcelain as tears trickle down my face. I wish I could stop. I wish I had more control.
I wish I loved myself as much as people believe I do.