I was launched into a world of obsession with a maladaptive coping mechanism, that for a great period of my life, was the only way I could ease the pain of this vicious illness.
So today I tell my story, well stories, about every time I didn’t want what was happening, but nobody bothered to ask.
Here are some of the things I wish someone had told me when I was diagnosed with a mental illness.
I cannot recall the last time I felt comfortable in my skin. I don’t think I can imagine my life without a crippling fear of appearing fat.
Washing your hands is supposed to signify a cleansing, but I think I’m overdoing the cleanse