I want to tell you that it is okay to ask for help. That even now I still struggle to do it myself. That just the other day, when I finally admitted to myself that the eating disorder was worsening again, that it was okay to say something.

That I must.

I want to tell you that no problem is too small to keep to yourself. That you deserve to speak for your body, and that perhaps those of us who suffer from eating disorders or other modes of self-harm have some of the toughest times asking for help because we have learned to speak with our body instead of our tongues. That perhaps we do speak, but in a language of silence when we leave the dinner table too soon, when we skip lunch, when we creep to the kitchen at midnight to fill our bodies too quickly, when we stow away to the bathroom after every meal. Because doesn’t it feel like your eating disorder will always be there for you? That it will keep you company when you feel your worst, and no one else will get hurt but you? That you don’t have to “wear anyone down” but yourself when you feel stressed, hurt, angry, and frustrated?

I am sad. I am hurt. I am frustrated. I also know I have a fantastic life, that I live day-to-day with a smile on my face, that I have so many good things going for me. But there is still that girl who needs to be listened to–the girl deep inside of me screaming and shaking the bars of a prison she feels she can never escape because I keep ignoring her, because I keep telling her to shut her mouth.

I want to tell you that you deserve to speak–because when I tell you this, I have to say it to myself, too. Because not but a day ago did I think, I shouldn’t bother people with this, I shouldn’t let them worry, I shouldn’t seem like I am trying to seek attention.

But when I awake each morning to peaceful silence while everything inside of my head screams, I drown the Rachael inside of me as I go about the day, as I hear her pounding to get out, as I carry on with my chores and work and crawl back into bed, where my chest tightens and aches and it is not until then–when I close my eyes and face myself again–that the tears emerge. Sometimes I tell myself I shouldn’t worry, that I shouldn’t feel concerned when I take it out on my own body, because I know I am not alone in my feelings. Someone, somewhere in the world may “have it worse” than me–I was brought up hearing this. But how many times have I stressed to others–and to myself–that it doesn’t mean we don’t deserve to speak!

WE DESERVE TO SPEAK.

As I returned home from a day of errands the other day thinking I didn’t need to tell anyone I was hurting, I realized I would never want you to do the same.

We must speak.

We must speak.

WE. MUST. SPEAK.

It is the best tool we have.