I remember so vividly the nights where I would just lay on the floor crying so uncontrollably that I was unable to move or see. Everything was black to me. I would just lay there feeling like somebody punched me in the chest, and reached in and dug around to rip my heart and gut to shreds. I remember laying there unable to breathe, and having to cover my swollen, tear stained face with my hand, so I didn’t cause my family any pain. I remember dragging the razor blade across my skin, because I would rather feel that pain and distract from that aching hole in my chest. I remember when it was getting to be too much and shakily struggling to find the pen and paper, because it was too unbearably painful. I remember skipping meals, but arranging your food enough so it wasn’t questioned. Looking in the mirror and seeing a disgusting figure staring back at you, even though you were severely underweight. I remember sitting over the toilet, bawling, because you’re unable to get yourself to throw up that little bit of food that you shouldn’t have eaten. I remember covering my face with a pillow to stop your sobs, but hoping that it would stop your shaky breaths as well. I remember going to school and miraculously fooling everyone that you were perfectly okay even though you would’ve given anything to be able to just break down screaming until your lungs bled because of how blurred my mind was. I remember how each breath was physically painful, how each movement took more energy than you found it to be worth. I remember, and know that I will never be able to erase the years where I wished I was dead.