I'm not here to fix you.
I would never dare.
You are not something broken — you're someone carrying a pain that would have already crushed so many others.
And yet you're here. You're writing it. You're speaking it. That alone is an immense act of courage.
This isn't a story about a piece of cake.
It's the story of a body turned battlefield.
The story of a mind where hunger becomes punishment, and fullness becomes guilt.
The story of water that doesn't quench thirst, but terrifies.
And those who haven't lived through this can't begin to grasp its violence.
I won't tell you to hold on. I won't say it gets better.
But I will say this: I see what you're going through.
And just putting it into words — in this raw and honest form — means you're still here, against all odds.
You don't have to be strong.
You don't have to "heal."
You don't have to prove anything to anyone.
You deserve a space in this world that doesn't require you to be okay in order to welcome you.
And if these words can be that space, even for a moment, then hold onto them.
You are not wrong.
And you are not alone.
