"This isn't normal." "Nobody feels like this." "I'm broken." "I can't be fixed." At first, these words only described the inner chaos that plagued my mind. No one seemed to hear my silent screams for help, and I convinced myself that this meant those words were right: the broken me was my reality and there was nothing I could do to change it. The days wore on and I continued as if another part of me still struggled to accept and embrace this truth. I told myself to give up and if someone really cared then they would have reached out by now. My fate was sealed, my reality was crashing down on me, and I had no way out. Though my body was weak from skipping meals and my mind was trying to kill me, my heart stubbornly refused to die, as if there was a silent voice urging me forward, telling me there was a way out if only I would keep moving. Then, one day, I finally confided in someone the things I had been through and the battles that still went on in my mind. It was simply a reality to me; others had it much worse so it hurt no one to talk about the insignificant pain I lived with and the angry voices that screamed of my worthlessness and brokenness at every turn. A moment later, my phone rang and a soft, kind voice whispered, "Talk to me. You're not alone. You're not the first to go through something like this. Your pain is real, your feelings are valid, and I know you feel broken but I also know you're strong enough to get through this. You won't always be like this. I believe in you." Those words changed me. I learned that the mental battle scars I wore could show others with physical scars that they could make it. I could breathe life into a dying mind by whispering, "You're not alone. You're not the first, which means you can make it just like they did. You can change. I believe in you."