I am not who I thought I’d be.

I am not what I thought I’d become.

Honestly, I never thought I’d be one to be so stressed all the time, so tightly wound.

Flinching and shaking at every thunderous sound.

I’m weak and depressed,

I’m an emotional mess.

And everything I do seems wrong.

I am never hungry, just wired.

Always eating, always tired.

And I have this overwhelming feeling that I’m not smart enough.

Every voice inside of me is telling me I’m dumb.

I hone my acting skills when it comes to my friends.

Every time I speak, it’s just a lie again and again.

And I’m tired of being an actress.

My hands keep shaking, maybe I’m not eating enough.

The scale’s telling me I should stop consuming so much stuff.

It’s like everything I write doesn’t seem to fit.

I don’t even know how much longer I can make it.

Through the rest of the semester, through the rest of my life.

It would be much easier to give up this losing fight.

Because this isn’t what I thought it’d be like.