**TRIGGER WARNING: references depression, self-harm, eating disorders**
I have seen your thoughts; I have scrolled through your feelings. Photo after photo, the sayings that resonated, the images in endless, cyclical motion. I’ve seen what your parents, teachers, friends don’t get to see: the stream-of-conciousness shrine you’ve built to house your pain.
The thinspiration pictures. The when & where of your self-harm. The crushed aftermath of another day at school, and how small you feel. I don’t know the details, but the details aren’t necessary. The endless rampage, post after post of isolation, swarms across my screen.
I think about all of you everyday. I think about all of your suffering, and how I will never be able to tell you how much better it gets in a way that will be meaningful. I can’t communicate with you via these flimsy tools: they connect as much as they separate.
Maybe you’ve chosen this place to cry for help because you are afraid of what would happen if you did so elsewhere. Maybe you feel the need to prove to someone you are sick, that your pain is real.
But you can’t heal while trying to convince others you’re hurting, and screaming for help into this void the way you’ve been doing will only bring back echoes, will only attract other kids like you, whose suffering is a reflection of your own.
I want you to get better. I want you to know that it is possible to get through it.
I wish I could show you the way.