Emily Jane

Here I am. Almost twenty three years old, and I still struggle day to day with my eating habits.

Just like the warmer parts out of the shade, I’m okay most days. But then when it comes to be dark out, like March, your absence is not to be forgotten.

The second worst part next to heartbreak is getting over it. For me, it’s the same kind of grief you experience as when a relative or loved one dies.

I felt wrong for asking at all, for being myself. Day after day it was millions of questions on what I’m doing wrong, why I’m not good enough to be more to you.

This is for all of the girls that wear their heart on their sleeve. The girls that love too much, too quickly, that tell their secrets too soon because they want someone to listen and not just hear them.

Everyone acts like the people in our lives are permanent, and it doesn’t have to be that way.

At some point, I became too afraid to be myself and reveal every part of me no matter how raw and ugly.

Our family wasn’t perfect, and neither was our house.

Even when you do break through the shell that you learned to hate, you still carry all of those insecurities with you. You’re still left to battle with all of your old beliefs about yourself and try to forget all of those words people called you.