We talked. You told me that when you see the scars, you won’t think any less of me. You won’t see me as any less beautiful. You told me that the scars tell my story, that you don’t want me to add more, but that you won’t judge me for the ones that I have.

I want to believe you.

You say that you tell me that I’m beautiful not to get me to stop starving myself or to boost my self esteem, but because you truly mean it.

I want to believe you.

You say that I won’t drive you crazy, that you won’t run from the chaos as everyone else has. You say that you want to just be there for me, help me through the craziness and see me come out on the other side…happy.

I want to believe you.

But how can I believe you when I’ve heard it a thousand times? How can I believe that the scars won’t scare you off, that the insanity in my head won’t soon drive you nuts, drive you away? I want to believe you. Maybe in time I’ll be able to.