I want therapy. I want to see a psychiatrist and get help. I cut. I’m an on and off again anorexic and lately I think I’m starting to be bulimic. I’m depressed. I have panic attacks. But you can’t see any of this.
You just think I’m some little whiny unappreciative bitch who doesn’t know how to buck up and live life. Please just open your eyes and see that I’m slowly dying on the inside. I don’t know how to go on much longer.
Please just listen for once. I want to tell you all of this so badly, but I know you won’t take
it well. You’ll start yelling and tell me “well just stop okay Rachel? I don’t want people to find out about this.” Because that’s what you always say.
You’re so damn worried about what other people think.
Please just make me feel comfortable enough to tell you all of this. I know I need help. I want help, even if I don’t want to stop cutting. I know that I need to if I ever want to be happy. And I want to be happy so badly. Please let me be happy.
Listen to me. I don’t know how to tell you.