There isare six of them. Six. How. I guess I’m just that talented that I make friends with all the girls with all the problems. Don’t get me wrong. I love these girls. They are the best friends I have, but the problem is that it’s something that just follows them around as Ifif stuck to them with glue. They don’t leave or let go no matter what. And they try, they try so hard. I know this because who do you think is with them in the middle of the night when they are having a panic attack that they are too fat when they are really just skin and bones or holding their hair out of their face in the bathroom when they are throwing up the three ounces that they managed to push down and then immediately regretted.regretted? Who do you think is with them when they have been in bed for days at a time not showering and smells and convincessmelling, convincing them that they are wanted in this world and that if they committed suicide a lot of people would be heart broken and that she does have talents and is unique and that there is no one as good as her in the world. I can keep it going, but it was me. MeIt was I, who had the most normal life. Most, most normal family. Was, who was always happy and never struggling with anything. GotI had a smile on my face and always got away with anything that I wanted. Yet what no one knows is that if you would just roll up my sleeves and uncover my legs, the scars that are there are so full of pain and so raw and are a proof of life. My life. The facade that I’m always playing is just a facade. It’s always covered. My heart is so broken, that I think it’s irreversible -- too shattered to ever be fixed.