I have nothing wrong with me. I do not suffer from a severe medical disease, a troubled past, or a tainted future. I have no haunting family secrets of a mother who didn’t love me enough or a father who could never hit me hard enough. I have nothing wrong with me.
There is nothing wrong with me except that I’m an eighteen year old woman that was just trying to get by for months too long. There is nothing wrong with me except that at one point, being eighteen seemed harsh enough on its own. I lived in the same world as you do, but I’m eighteen. I saw the same things you do, but I’m eighteen. I heard the same thing you do, but I’m eighteen. I did not live the same way you do, because I’m eighteen.
Pressure from the world around me turned me to alcohol, drugs, and eating disorders. I had been in and out of hospitals for many causes that I brought about in my own self destruction. My hair was falling out and fainting became a daily occurrence. My out of control antics would keep my parents awake at nights wondering if I would be making a 4am entrance or no entrance at all. My own high school graduation was a disgrace, receiving an unsigned diploma that screamed of shame. I cried more than I laughed and I hated myself more than I loved myself. I was at rock bottom and sat there for longer than I’d like to admit.
Support from the world around me turned me to self-love, encouragement, and recovery. I have been in and out of hospitals to thank those that have helped me on my road to revival. I have learned that you can either make yourself miserable or you can make yourself happy, the amount of work is the same. My parents sleep comfortably, with a signed diploma resting serenely on their nightstand. I laugh more than I cry and I love myself more than I hate. I survived rock bottom, and found that it’s quite a place to turn around. I am eighteen years young, and I believe that is reason enough for me to celebrate.
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