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Your scars are your battle wounds.
Your scars are your battle wounds.
Such a beautiful disaster...
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What you SHOULD say to people dealing with any of these

Anxiety:This too shall pass, even if that sounds corny and cliche. Your anxiety will subside, you are not dying, you will not die from this, everything is going to be fine. Keep taking deep breaths, try and stay focused.
Depression:You are valid and your emotions are valid. You are a good, strong person, even if you don't feel like you are right now. Things DO get better, and I know you can get through this.
Sexual Orientation:Your body, your life, your bedroom. You choose what you do with it, and I get no say in the matter, because I am not you. I'll respect you no matter what.
Bipolar:The sun also rises. For all your bad days, weeks, or longer-- you also have good ones just beyond the horizon. You know better than anyone what it means to finally hit those "highs" in your life, and I hope that you just keep growing and strengthening yourself through your treatment to extend those happy moments.
Self harm:This is your body and I'll never pass judgement over you for the things you choose to do with it. However, you should really consider speaking with a counselor about this. Not because you're "bad", but because I just want you to be safe.
Eating disorders:It's okay to eat, you have permission. Eating will not make you fat, ugly, or worthless. Eating will make you strong, healthy, and lively. You deserve to eat, you deserve happiness.
Abuse:What they did was wrong, and you had no consenting part in it. You have no need to feel guilty or shamed, although I understand that may be exactly how you are feeling right now. They're the ones at fault here, and the ball is entirely in your court if you choose to report them for that, which you are rightfully entitled to do.
Suicide:Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. You are valuable and your existence is valuable. There are billions of people on this planet, and even if you think everyone hates you and no one cares, they do and they will. You can find so many friends and loved ones if you just allow yourself the time to look for them. The world turns out to be a beautiful place and you deserve to be alive to see that.
Sexual assault:What they did was vile and disgusting. Yes, you're now left with this horrible, traumatic event to move on from, but your life is not entirely lost. Recovery is possible, and an unfortunately large number of people have to go through that-- but they make it to the other side. So can you, you can do this. You're not dirty, you're not a "slut" or a "whore", you are a human being whose rights were violated. But you are strong, and I know you can move past this in due time.
Multiple Personality Disorder:I'll always love you no matter who you are. I only hope the absolute best for you during your recovery and treatment, and maybe one day I'll be so privileged as to love you as one whole.
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder:The pain of suddenly reliving horrific events is almost unimaginable for me. Please try and remember that although it feels like it's real and it's happening right now, that it's not. You are okay, you are fine, and you are safe. You are in the present here and now, and that past can't manifest itself again to come and physically hurt you. Everything is just fine, these feelings will pass and you're going to be okay.
Schizophrenia:I am real and I can promise you that. I care. Try and find something grounding for you, an object that you can cling to to help you distinguish between whether or not you're hallucinating. You are not a freak, you are not a monster. You're a human being with rights and emotions who happens to be ill right now.
I saw the what "not" to say post and had to make my own variant of that. I lava you <3

Why do we constantly do this to our children? /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)

(via secretsbehindscars)

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is eight years old, she’s got pink cheeks that her grandmother calls chubby. She wants a second cookie but her aunt says “you’ll get huge if you keep eating.” She wants a dress and the woman in the changing room says “she’ll probably need a large in that.” She wants to have dessert and her waiter says “After all that dinner you just had? You must be really hungry!” and her parents laugh.

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is eleven and she is picked second-to-last in gym class. She watches a cartoon and sees that everyone who is annoying is drawn with a big wide body, all sweaty and panting. At night she dreams she is swelling like the ocean over seabeds. When she wakes up, she skips school.

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is thirteen and her friends are stick-thin ballerinas with valleys between their hipbones. She is instead developing the wide curves of her mother. She says she is thick but her friends argue that she’s “muscular” and for some reason this hurts worse than just admitting that she jiggles when she walks and she’ll never be a dancer. Eating seconds of anything feels like she’s breaking some unspoken rule. The word “indulgent” starts to go along with “food.”

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is fourteen and she has stopped drinking soda and juice because they bloat you. She always takes the stairs. She fidgets when she has to sit still. Whenever she goes out for ice cream, she leaves half at the bottom - but someone else always leaves more and she feels like she’s falling. She pretends to like salad more than she does. She feels eyes burrowing through her body while she eats lunch. Kate Moss tells her nothing tastes as good as skinny feels, but she just feels like she is wilting.

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is fifteen the first time her father says “you’re getting gaunt.” She rolls her eyes. She eats one meal a day but thinks she stays the same size. Every time she picks up a brownie she thinks of the people she sees on t.v. and every time she has cake, she thinks of the one million magazine articles on restricting calories. She used to have no idea a flat stomach was supposed to be beautiful until she saw advice on how to achieve it. She cuts back on everything. She controls. They tell her she’s getting too thin but she doesn’t believe it.

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is sixteen and tearing herself into shreds in order for a thigh gap big enough to hush the screams in her head. She doesn’t “indulge,” ever. She can’t go out with friends, they expect her to eat. She damns her sweet tooth directly to hell. It’s coffee for breakfast and tea for lunch and if there’s dance that evening, two cups of water and then maybe an apple. She lies all the time until she thinks the words will rot her teeth. She dreams about food when she sleeps. Her aunt begs her to eat anything, even just a small cookie. They say, “One bite won’t make you fat, will it, darling?”

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is seventeen and too sick to go to prom because she can’t stand up for very long. She thinks she wouldn’t look good in a dress anyway. Her nails are blue and not because they are painted. Her hair is too thin to do anything with. She’s tired all the time and always distracted. She once absently mentions the caloric value of grapes to the boy she is with and he looks at her like she’s gone insane and in that moment she realizes most people don’t have numbers constantly scrolling in their heads. She swallows hard and tries to figure out where it all went wrong, why more than a granola bar for a meal makes her feel sick, why she tastes disease and courts with death. She misses sleep. She misses being able to dream. She misses being herself instead of just being empty.

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is twenty and writes poetry and is a healthy weight and still fights down the voices every single day. She puts food in her mouth and sometimes cries about it but more and more often feels good, feels balanced. Her cheeks are pink and they are chubby and soft and no longer growing slight fur. Her hair is long and it is beautiful. She still picks herself apart in the mirror, but she’s starting to get better about it. She wears the dress she likes even if it only fits her in a large and she doesn’t feel like a failure for it. She is falling in love with the fat on her hips.

She is eating out with friends and not worrying about finding the lowest calorie item on the menu when she hears a mother tell her four year old daughter “You can’t have ice cream, we just had dinner.
You don’t want to end up as a fat little girl.”

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