WHY ME? “Why me?” I ask as I lay in bed at night, hating myself for stuff that’s not my fault but might as well be. “Why me?” I ask as I look in the mirror, hating everything I see. “Why me?” I ask as I stare at a blank screen, trying desperately to write something, anything but nothing comes out. I take tests online, seeing results I already knew but my parents would never believe. They’d say I’m being dramatic or lazy when I am trying my best. They don’t see me late at night when I’m breaking more than I thought possible. They don’t see me when I cry because clothes don’t fit how I want them to. They don’t see me when I’m at my worst and I never let them because I’m too scared of being more hurt. Then again, why would they care? How I see my body isn’t their problem, how my mind goes blank at the worst times isn’t their problem, me hating myself isn’t their problem. So how could they care? Why should they care? It doesn’t affect them positively, knowing I’m struggling.