Dear Hurting Teenager,
I know you want to leave.
I know the horrible, endless walks through the hallways that you endure every morning, near vomiting.
I know the afternoon bus rides to Hell where you sit frozen with fear, praying to just become invisible.
I know the locker room beat-downs and the lunch room stares and the wounding words behind your back and the hateful taunts in your face.
I know how it takes every bit of strength you have just to paint on a smile and pretend you’re OK and to hide how much it hurts and to act “normal”.
I know that all of this has left you exhausted; that you’ve drugged yourself and cut yourself and starved yourself and sold yourself, in the hope that their voices will become silent, and their fists will be lifted, and you can finally breathe again.
I know that right now, you’d…
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