This is a spoken word poem from my first video about my struggle with an eating disorder.

Started out before I was 7 years old, too young to know how old I would be when I finally got too lost and was no longer me.

Doctors treated me as though I was a nasty specimen with no self-control, just eating my way into destiny.

Already being broken before I even stood up.

I was told I wasn't normal, I wasn't healthy and it was all my fault, as though I made the choice.

Always looking for the next quick fix: diet pills, weight watchers, Jenny Craig, every calorie counting app in the world — all sources that had convinced me I would be free if I just lost the physical weight that burdened me.

My adolescence consisting of a number on a scale.

I hated ever fiber in me, every inch — head to toe.

Telling myself, you'll never enough, you'll always be ugly, you'll always be fat.

Sit down, shut up, don't talk, don't smile, you don't deserve to be seen for a long long while.

People started to see the cuts on my wrist and the slits on my knees.

No one understanding my need to be free from the monsters inside me.

Don't you understand I am broken with so many words unspoken?

My need to verbalize is stuck inside, and it won't come open.

My mouth won't speak, my eyes won't open. I'm stuck inside.

So alone, so lost, so broken.

Sit down, shut up, don't talk, don't smile, you don't deserve to be seen for a long long while.

The self-abuse slashing my soul like knives sliding through butter — no defenses, just the weak, disgusting nothingness I had become.

At 15 years old, I thought it was over. I thought, this is it, your need to be free will either take you out or keep you up.

Which one will it be? Live or die, sink or swim.

I thought, what would the hell I survived this long for be worth if I didn't even try. If I die, I'll never get to see beyond this hole.

I'm not ready not yet, I'm not giving in, not just yet.

I thought I could face it. But I can't, the pain is too great, but my choice has been taken.

My divinity has been lost, and a shell of an ugly human remains. Tears are all I see, tears that keep raining down on me — they won't go away, and I can no longer fight them.

I must cry in front of strangers in a room of suffering. I can't leave, I can't get ou,t I can't run — it has all been taken from me.

Make the pain stop. It is eating me alive. Don't you see I won't be able to survive?

After turning in on pain, finally looking at it, truly staring the pain right in the face...there's no more running.

All that is left is the will to survive. After surviving the pain and letting it drain just like a deep wound: cleansing it, cleaning it, letting the new replace the used.

My chains have been set free. I finally found the key.

My war is far from won, but I'll keep fighting till I've won

Almost 18 seems light years away from the broken little girl who was 7 years old. My journey isn't over, my fight will rage on. I've become something to be proud of.

So I won't sit down, I won't shut up, I won't stop talking and I definitely won't stop smiling.

Life seems so precious once it's been lost.

Reprogramming the ideals about meals and moving up and out. My fight won't stutter, my voice won't stop. My eyes are wide open, ready, waiting for my shot.

So you see, I go to the gym, I try to fuel myself the best I can, not to change a number but because I deserve to be the absolute best I can be.

No questions asked, no self-abuse and no hatred allowed. I'm here to say our fight is not over. There are many wars to be won.

Don't give in, don't give up. Be light you wish to see and go on up.

Disclaimer: This is a work of poetry based on my real life experiences. All resemblance to actual people, places, incidents, or things is completely coincidental.