Barbara Palvin
Bulimia isn’t a long haired pretty girl bending over a toilet with a tragically beautiful face on. It’s a puffed miserable face with vomit dripping from it’s chin and a fucking nose bleed. Anorexia isn’t a slim figure shyly refusing a cupcake. It’s hair growing over your freezing malnourished body. Depression isn’t a model with running mascara staring into the sunset. It’s staring at the fucking ceiling at 4 in the morning with burning eyes because you can’t even find the motivation to close them. Self harm isn’t lovely boys kissing your arms telling you you’re still beautiful. It’s nasty fucking scars that will be there forever and showers that sting. Panic attacks aren’t burying your face into your lovers chest and them telling you everything will be okay. It’s feeling out of control and like oxygen has been taken from you. Mental illnesses aren’t beautiful. They don’t make you special and don’t make people suddenly care about you. They’re monsters that destroy lives. So stop taking them lightly and promoting them to impressionable teenagers on the damn internet.
