the mind of a teenager.

faint.

for as long as i can physically remember i've never had a day without feeling faint. it is my fault however. i just wish i could stand up normally. not grabbing a wall. not tripping over my feet. not having someone catch me. yes i remember when i was younger having really good stamina. now all i can do is push through one attempt at a hard dance and i need to lie down. i've been to the doctors more times than i'd like. all telling me i was alright due to there being no signs i'm anaemic. i mean why would they need to check for anything else. their level of concern is someone really thin that has pale skin from being sick and not from their hair colour. i know what i've done in the past is wrong. but i still do it to this day and i can't break it. the doctors all smile at my mum and tell her i'm healthy and probably just sick. but how can i be sick every time i  visit with the same illness. how is it they can see that i'm struggling to stay standing yet insist i'm sick. how can they ignore that i have no other signs of sickness. they have higher priorities. the sicker patients. the ones that they deem need more help than me. the patients they can give a clear diagnosis based on looks. the diagnosis they won't give me due to me not looking like it. yes i know what is wrong. well not fully. but i know what's making my already sick state worse. i know one thing that i need help with. i know one thing that's easy to diagnose myself with thanks to the media. self diagnosing is wrong they say. but if my own doctor refuses to notice then what can i do? i could lie to myself but then the voices get what they want. what doctors need to understand is that not all thin girls are sick. and not all " healthy weight" girls are healthy. my doctor always says that i am completely healthy and how others who walk in there dream to be me. would they really ? because they get the help they need and here is me. suffering. of course it's my fault i'm like this but i can't help myself. that's the doctors job. help the sick. whether it be mentally or physically. but my doctor is stupid. that i know for sure. she clearly doesn't notice my change in size. she blames my pale skin on the colour of my hair and not my need to throw up the contents of my stomach. she noticed how i fold my arms over my stomach yet blamed it on a habit all teenagers do. i'm alone in my journey of self destruction. the darkness being the only thing admitting my condition. the voices encouraging my state. moon frowning at me and telling me i need to try and get better. but maybe i'll be thin. then i can be free and dainty. like a butterfly.