mirror, mirror on the wall,
you’re a five year old’s best pal.
she dresses up in a tutu and tiara
and dances as she watches her reflection sparkle.

mirror, mirror on the wall,
you reflect a ten year old with her doll.
she smiles at her doll’s perfect curls,
and tries to mimic it in her own through twirls.

mirror, mirror on the wall,
you’ve pushed too hard and she’s starting to fall.
having only just become a teenage girl,
she has already started to lose her hair.

mirror, mirror on the wall,
you have been newly purchased and you’re five feet tall.
she stands in front of you and picks apart her body
fifteen years old and already under ninety..

mirror, mirror on the wall,
her walk is turning into a crawl.
life is consumed with food and numbers
and getting out of bed in the morning is not even considered.

mirror, mirror on the wall,
you’re a completely shattered mess.
with shards of glass and a pool of blood,
she wishes she were dead.

mirror, mirror on the wall,
you are reduced to a tiny square.
she is not allowed to look at the stomach
which caused her to end up there.

mirror, mirror on the wall,
you’re finally becoming a friend again.
she’s gaining weight, but also life,
and she can smile at her reflection.

mirror, mirror on the wall,
you’re a recovered girls best pal.
at nineteen years old, she stands up tall
wearing her best dress and painted nails.

she looks into her mirror and starts to smile,
thinking back on her five year old self.
she reaches into her dresser and grabs that old tiara,
so thankful that all over again, she is allowing herself to sparkle.

a disordered girl’s relationship with her mirror // Hannah B.  (via f-ightingback)

Dear math teacher,
I’m sorry I didn’t do my homework.
I was busy last night fighting off the demons that made a home inside my head.

Dear English teacher,
I’m sorry my essay wasn’t done.
I was preoccupied last night, trying to eat my dinner without having my third mental breakdown that day.

Dear history teacher,
I’m sorry I fell asleep in class.
I was up all night trying to decide whether or not there was still a point in staying alive.

Dear school system,
I’m sorry that I’m the one filled with so many apologies.
You should be sorry that I feel the need to apologize for my mental health.
You should be sorry for making students believe that their grades should come before their lives.
You should be sorry for your lack of education and awareness of psychological diseases.
And you owe me so many apologizes for all those fucking nights when I stayed up late to finish my homework, despite the blood pouring from my wrists.

I said sorry, now where are your fucking apologies? // Hannah B.  (via f-ightingback)