I was a happy child, I smiled a lot.
But one day I was scared.
Scared to be replaced, to not be enough.
Every day I walked into the school bathroom and threw my sandwich away.
I ate less, I smiled less, I went out less.
I asked for more and more attention.
I screamed to fill the void inside of me.
When I was 9 I went to my first therapy, then to my second and my third.
People said it was a phase, nobody knew about the food thing, I didn’t think it was a big deal.
When I was 14 I went to a psychic ward, I screamed for help, but I was alone. They said I have autism, but I didn’t believe them.
They didn’t know me, they didn’t want to help me, they didn’t like me.
I wasn’t enough, 3 weeks later I was suddenly home again.
My parents loved me again.
In the 3 months that followed, I smiled less, I got out of bed less, I ate less.
My mom would cry at night because she thought I would die.
I was happy, because finally she cared, finally she was sorry she locked me up.
I hurt people and I got hurt a lot.
Now I’m writing this and thinking of all these moments I cried at night, when I wished I was dead.
I am 16 now, my life is not perfect but I am alive. Sometimes I am alone, but not lonely anymore.
Sometimes I cry, but I am not depressed anymore.
Sometimes I am not hungry, but I am not anorexic anymore.
I am not perfect, but I am enough.
And I have always been.
Door: Fenna Slangen
