The symptoms have diminished,
Yet the feelings are still there.
Everyone thinks I’m better,
But I still need to know they care.
I continue fighting myself,
Each and every day I go through hell.
Happiness equals losing weight.
Dear God, am I ever going to be well?
A part of me clings to the symptoms,
As if to assure myself something is wrong.
Why am I so different than everyone else?
Why don’t I feel like I belong?
The other part of me wants to get better.
Yet I can’t give up on my dream.
It’s the only thing I’m living for,
No matter how dangerous it may seem.
(17 years old)