Yesterday was my birthday. I fully thought i was going to kill myself before that day, but I made it. Im eighteen. Im alive. Its… hard, I’m chronically ill, and my body is fighting me day in and day out. I struggle to trust due to my BPD and consistently being abandoned, but what matters is that i’m here, because my family refused to give up on me, and my best friend refused to give up on me. I made it. It feels surreal, but it’s true. Happy 18th to me.




















