My family and I consists of my dad, mom and brother. We lived in the country until I was 7, where I struggled with anxiety and depression from an early age. Then we moved to the city, where it was a new school, new life, new everything. My brother and I were both bullied. I was bullied for my body, words and interests. This and sexual abuse from boys and men at the age of 8 manifested an eating disorder. I was anorexic and still am, lost weight rapidly and regularly restricted. This continued until I was 10, when we moved. At the age of 10 my brother began to sexually abuse and rape me, for many years. My ED, which had gone away, came back stronger than ever. I felt very alone.

At my new school most of the other kids ignored or bullied me for being “nerdy” and “tall”. When I was 12 my best friend began to sexualise and emotionally abuse me. Most of my classmates participated.

After it all, I started self harming. At the age of 13, after Covid hit, this was discovered and I began to see a therapist. Until August I was on medication, seeing multiple people and very suicidal and skinny. My parents, out of fear, sent me to a psychiatric hospital in which I was forced to throw up food and tell them about the incidents with my brother.

After this, until the end of the year, a lot of things changed. I saw a trauma counsellor, got a stalker and began a toxic and abusive relationship. By now the issues with my brother had stopped and I was ready for the new year.

January, 2021. I finally decided to stop attempting but my ED got so bad that in February, on my birthday I finally told my parents. They enrolled me into a posh eating disorder clinic. But they couldn’t handle my depression and self harm so I was sent to a different hospital. There I made many close friends and finally opened up.

I came back from the clinic 3 weeks ago, and am on a meal plan, supervised after meals, trying to recover but failing slightly.

After being diagnosed with OCD, PTSD, anorexia, depression, anxiety and bulimia, the world seemed to end for me.

But, my trauma does not define me, what defines me is my love for animals, art, photography, painting, books, music, psychology and the world that I have created for those I love.

Everyday, waking up is the hardest part, but remember, you are loved, you are imperfectly perfect and I am so proud of you.

This is just the beginning of my story 🙂