A/N: Hey guys! Sorry that it has been a while. I'm updating my multi chapter stories soon.

Now I have a few warnings for this. IT IS NOT LIKE ANYTHING I HAVE EVER WRITTEN BEFORE!

There is cutting, depression, eating disorders, and suicidal thoughts in this story. It may be triggering.

I also want to say I think Olivia is beautiful and not fat at all, but the thoughts come with the mental illnesses.

So if you are depressed or don't like this, don't read but don't say I didn't warn you.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything you may recognize.

Kim's Point of View

People feel happiness in different ways. Some people talk to their friends, they play sports, listen to music. I don't feel as happy as those people when I do those things, except listen to music. Music is my escape from life. And the other things that make me happy.

These other hobbies of mine aren't good for me. In fact, they could kill me.

Before I tell you about anything else, I should probably introduce myself. My name is Kimberly Crawford. My "close friends" call me Kim. By "close friends" I mean people I talk to a lot who think they know me. They don't. No one does.

Okay, so I lied, three people do know me and my problems. Two of them know a lot, but not everything. Only one person understands and knows everything. That person is Jack Brewer. The other two people are my best friends since preschool, Grace and Julie.

Away from Grace and Julie though. I want to tell you about Jack before I reveal my secret. The secret I'm finally letting go a little.

So Jack has been my closest friend for as long as I can remember. He has perfect hair. Perfect eyes. To sum it up, he is perfect! Of course I like him as more than a friend, and he likes me more than a friend too. We both decided that I need a friend more than a boyfriend though. The reason why? I guess I'll tell you now.

What brings me happiness is cutting myself. Every time I make a new mark on my skin it cheers me up. Watching the blood flow out of me brightens my day. I cut my thighs, the inside of my ankles, right under my boobs, my chest, my upper bicep, my shoulders, my wrists, and my favorite place, my hips.

Most people would probably be disgusted by me. I mean, who would love a girl with scars, right? This is why I'm trying to get clean, but it's making me miserable! You try going from at least fifty cuts a day to nothing and tell me how you feel!

I'll go back to cutting later, but I do want to move on to the other thing that brings me happiness. Okay, so the actual act doesn't bring me happiness, but how I feel once it's done certainly does.

Here it is. I have bulimia. I make myself throw up multiple times a day. Anywhere between two times a day and sixteen. I'm just, so fat and ugly! I can't fix the ugly completely, but being skinny would at least make me more attractive, right? Absolutely.

The act of throwing up disgusts me, but the light feeling of my stomach and the thoughts of becoming beautiful bring me so much joy! Plus, my stomach grumbling doesn't mean I'm hungry, my stomach is just applauding me for my hard work.

There are so many emotions flowing through me that caused me to start throwing up and cutting. They are both so damn addictive. If I needed to choose the one I could live without it would be the bulimia. I live for cutting, even though I am working on stopping. The bulimia isn't going to stop, it's just working extra to make up for my lack of blood loss.

I should probably tell you all about my first times. Let's begin with the bulimia.

"I feel so sick" I thought to myself as I was hovering over the toilet hacking. A thought popped into my head. Stick my fingers down my throat. It would just make you feel better and then once you get over this stomach bug or whatever you have, life can go back to normal.

I actually agreed with my head. It makes perfect sense. I took a deep breath before sticking two fingers down my throat, all contents in it spilling out. Once I was done i felt much better. "See. Wasn't that a good idea?" I told myself. Then I nodded and left the bathroom.

As you can see, that idea spun out of control. I kept telling myself that I was only throwing up when absolutely necessary, only when I felt really sick. Of course my mystery illness only lasted so long before I realized I should stop.

Once that happened I was full on addicted. Throwing up was causing me to lose weight, even if I didn't realize it at the time. I began to eat again and I finally understood why bulimia was so dangerous.

Every time I took a bite of food, my stomach felt like it would explode. Throughout the next two months I went on and off throwing up. I would throw up until I reached my goal weight, just a few pounds under what I was, then I would be fine. I was starting to get conscious about my weight when I was at a higher point.

I think thats when I should have made a decision to completely stop. I was still somewhat in control.

Then one faithful day came, the day you could say I truly began my downward spiral. I was out with my family at a sports game. I don't remember what it was because I ate one soft pretzel, looked around at all the people skinnier than me, and decided it was time to fix what I looked like.

That day I threw up eight times at the game and twice after I ate dinner. Ten times. My throat was sore, but I would finally feel pretty.

I was throwing up everyday for around two months. I then decided I would eat, but I would starve myself. I had an exact schedule of what I ate. For breakfast I would eat exactly six spoonfuls of Cheerios, I wouldn't eat lunch, and for dinner I would eat a few bites of whatever meat my mom made, then leave claiming I felt terrible and I would also throw that little bit of dinner up. I lost fifteen pounds in less than two weeks. I was so proud of myself.

After another week or two my mom found out about my weight look and would watch me eat and monitor my food intake.

I ate for a few days before I began to feel fat again. I started throwing up again and it just increased to where I am today.

My body has adjusted a lot, so it is hard. I really have to make sure i empty all of the contents in my stomach. Anyways, the rest is history.

Onto the cutting.

It started at the same time the bulimia began. This is an even longer story I think. I don't really remember what was going through my head when I first began. I had always been so anti hurting yourself but I guess people change right?

I was on my way to a concert I was performing at. I was literally shaking with nerves. I remember reading that sometimes self harm can make you feel better, but I thought to myself "No. You can not go down that road."

It didn't help because I decided it do something small.

I found a sharp piece on my nail, and dug it deeply into my skin. I let out a shaky breath wondering why anyone would do anything like this to themselves. It wasn't pleasant, but for some reason that didn't stop me from leaving five or six marks on my right wrist.

Right, that was how it started. I kept pressing my nail in my wrist for a week or two, then I started leaving scratches on my wrist, then it continued getting worse.

I started lightly cutting my wrist with scissors. It slowly progressed to having both wrists filled with cuts.

I soon stopped that and began cutting under my clothes. Primarily my hips. It got to a point where I was just cutting on top of un-healed cuts because there wasn't enough room. I was putting at least forty to fifty cuts on my hips a day.

My hobby was watching blood pour from my skin. Which was strange because I hate seeing blood but thats what an addiction can do to you. An addiction can seriously be the end of you. Its scary waking up each day not sure if you will live to see the night. All it takes is one cut too deep and I could be dead.

But this is the concept of YOLO, right? You only live once so do what makes you happy? Every time Grace, Julie, or Jack ask me to stop I point this out to them. It normally makes them even more scared, but I would never go as far as killing myself on purpose.

I have attempted suicide twice though, I just wouldn't do it again.

The first time I was seven years old. I got into a huge fight with my parents and decided I would kill myself. I really didn't know what I was doing and when I look back on it there was no way I would have died from what I did. All I did was make on cut on my wrist, which barely bled and take on extra over-the-counter pill.

The second time was a little more serious, but I chickened out and nothing ever truly happened. I just left multiple deep cuts all over my body and took multiple extra sleeping pills. Not enough than anything happened besides me passing out.

I would never do either of those things again though. I can not put my friends through this. I love them too much.

Now what else do I have to reveal? A few more things.

I would be lying if I said I hadn't tried other things too. I was on prescription antidepressant drugs, not because I'm depressed, but because I had a nerve issue and a side effect of them could have helped my nerve problem. I was misusing the drugs a little. This day was probably a low point for me.

I have never been so depressed in my life. I have nothing in my stomach and I only woke up an hour ago and I already have seventy two cuts on my hips.

I need something more though. I decided to take double the antidepressant and that still wasn't enough for me. I decided to drink tubing alcohol and hair spray with alcohol in it.

Once I finally felt like I had enough I called Jack. We were on the phone for a while when he finally called me out on acting strange. I told him what happened.

I really don't remember anything else, except that I passed out in the end and had three bruises on my legs.

That was the worst day of my life. From there on I haven't drank anything besides what just from fear.

Things probably are filling in. You probably know much more about me and have a feel for what I'm like. There is another piece of this story I want to share though. The beginning. My childhood. I don't have a flashback, but I do want to explain.

I have always relied on self harm it appears. I speak to my mom and she always says that when I was little and I got mad I would hurt myself. Whether it was pulling my hair out, slapping myself until my arms were red, biting my wrists until I cried, or digging at my skin until I would bleed, I was always hurting myself.

I guess that makes sense. My problems began when I was a baby. I guess thats why I have issues now. It scares me though. Knowing that I've always been screwed up. I always feel like a mistake. Like I'm not good at anything or for anything.

I guess thats why I live like this. In fear of myself. In fear of my emotions. I don't feel a lot of them anymore, emotions. I am scared of them and will do anything to prevent them.

I do however have to explain one more thing. The nature of my mindset. There are two options for me. I'm on a major high where I feel like I can do anything and I'm over confident, or my depressed state.

During that high I still don't feel a lot. I just think I can do anything so I overwork myself. Basically I feel like if I just push myself hard enough I will forget everything else.

During my depressed state I don't do anything besides listen to sad music and eat chocolate then cry about the fact I'm going to gain weight.

The thing is, there is no in between with my mood. It changes in a second. I don't know why. Jack think I'm bipolar, but I know he's wrong. He just wants to make assumptions in hope that I will go to the doctor or a therapist for help. Help is not an option though. I feel much better on my own.

Well there you have it. My story. It's really scary keeping all of this hidden. Jack is the only one who knows all of this. Grace and Julie just know that I'm cutting myself and making myself throw up. They are all always there for me though. There's really not better friends I can ask for to support and love me.

These things just bring me so much happiness. I don't care how wrong it is. I am happy listening to music of being with Jack and my other friends, but nothing feels as good as satisfying my craving for a perfect body or watching blood flow out of my skin.

A/N: I've never been so proud of anything I've ever written so please let me know if you enjoyed it. I am not saying any of the topics mentioned should be handled the way Kim handles them, but that is probably how they would be handled.

If you suffer from any mental illness GET HELP! Do not hide it, things will only get worse. You are all beautiful and worthy of life. If you need someone to talk to I'm here.

Anyways please review and let me know if you would like me to write anything else like this. Love you guys!