A few months ago, one of my favorite people in the world opened up to me about her depression, anxiety and eating disorder. She is working so hard at recovery, and every day I’m more proud of her. She’s one of the only people I love so much it makes my chest hurt. She’s smart, and passionate and so unbelievably kind. It breaks my heart in a thousand ways to know what she deals with, but I also know that if there’s anyone in the world who is strong enough to face this shit head on and wrestle it into submission, it’s her. She’s the kind of person who makes me want to be a better person. 

I don’t know when she’ll find the time to read this, but when she does, I want her to know that she’s the reason I ate dinner tonight. She’s the reason I didn’t throw up, and the reason I let myself opt out of teaching next semester so I can try to finally get my dependence on narcotics under control. Her honesty and her strength are the reason I am trying to learn how to practice self care. Her friendship is one of the reasons I have hope. 

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