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If you donât understand mental illness, good. Good for you. You shouldnât have to understand.
If you donât understand why some people canât get out of bed in the morning, good. I hope you jump out of your bed every day ready to take the world by storm.
If you donât understand how someone could drag a blade across their skin, or bruise themselves, pick, probe, burn, then good. I hope youâre never that desperate to feel something.
If you donât understand what would drive a girl to keep starving herself despite everything sheâs lost in the process, good. I hope you stay heavy and present and real.
If you donât understand what eating everything in your kitchen only to throw it all up solves, good. I hope you always remember that it solves nothing.
If you donât understand why he wonât just go to rehab or church or find someone who can help him, good. I hope you always remember you have somewhere to turn.
If you donât understand how she can put getting high above her own children, good. I hope you never fall in love with a substance that only kills you in return.
If you donât understand how someone can keep swallowing bottles of pills, tying knots in ropes, or standing at the tops of bridges, good. I hope youâre never that desperate for relief.
If you donât understand how people do it, good.
Youâre not supposed to.
Itâs all fucking sick.
Itâs all fucking mental.
When you say your prayers tonight, thank God for ignorance.
Itâs healthy.
— âIf You Donât Understandâ Â (via flooorentina)