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Girl With The Eating Disorder (Contributed by Lindsay)

Today’s letter was contributed by Lindsay (@lindsholifield) Dear girl with the eating disorder,  You hide in your baggy clothes, hoping no one will see you. You lie and tell them you've already eaten. When you slip away to the restroom after meals, no one suspects a thing. But you are hurting inside. The voice in your head is relentless.  Girl who think she will never be free, I promise you there is hope. You may not believe me, but you are beautiful. You deserve so much more than hurting yourself. There is life on the other side. One day you will live that life.   You are loved more than you will ever know. Let us in, let us hold you tight and whisper grace over you. Let us walk with you towards healing. Together, we're going to make it.   Love, Lindsay
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“We are a broken people…”

Today’s letter was contributed by Rachel, an extroverted twenty-something writer, reader, learner, and dreamer surviving off coffee and deep conversations. She believes in early mornings, live music, road trips, and finding the good. Follow her thoughts on Twitter at @_rachchristine and her writings at www.sincerelyrachelchristine.com: To the drug-addicted brother from the sister who cannot save you: I just want you to be okay. I heard somewhere that big sisters are supposed to help quench the thirsty dreams of their younger siblings. I’m sorry that I did not do that for you. It’s crazy to be a witness to the erosion of your spirit that’s taken place over the last few years. It’s hard to watch someone so close to my heart become the personification of statistics, symptoms, and stories. It’s safe to say that a drug addict is everything they say he will be; a liar, a thief, and a desperate shadow of a person. You still have a spark every once in awhile, but I sometimes wonder what the size of the flame would be, had heroin not decided to try and squelch it. Would you be a businessman? A drummer? A teacher? Some days I slide down to the floor and cry achingly and I press my palms into my eyes, wishing away reality. It’s like I’m homesick for what used to be, for who you used to be. I want to laugh with the young boy who wore fake glasses in his school picture because he knew “class clown” was in his birthright. I want to joke around with the teenager who will still play Nintendo 64 with me, and won’t laugh when I lose every time. I long for your eyes to see the world through sobriety, through actuality, through redemption. Because the world is an incredibly beautiful place that is desperate for the spark of humanity to come alive. I long for your arms to be pink once more, with signs of life instead of death, signs of healing instead of affliction. I long to know why this is your story – but I don’t know that any of us ever will. It is no less beautiful, and you are no less worthy of hope than any of us. We are a broken people, each of us. You are not alone in this, you are never alone. The fullness of love is attainable; you just have to look for it. I love you. Sincerely, Rachel Christine
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The story goes far beyond the cover

Today’s letter was contributed by Sara-Anne (@sara___anne). Her words remind me that stories are often deeper than what we initially perceive. It is these deeper stories that make humanity so beautifully diverse. Check out more of her writing.
To the girl who thinks it's unfair some kids get extra time taking test because it gives them an advantage and better grade:  It is unfair. It's unfair that those kids have mostly struggled until high school until being diagnosed. It's unfair that they study for two hours and still experience test anxiety. It's unfair when they sit down to take the test and only think about how much time they should spend on each question. It's unfair they wonder if they can finish on time and then realize they have just wasted 4 minutes calculating the questions to time and most recalculate, wasting more time. It's unfair when EVERY single noise, smell, or visual stimulation is hyped to their brain. It's unfair when they start hearing book bags zip up and they have not even looked at the last two pages of the test. It's unfair when the other kids are leaving the classroom and they have to decide whether they have time to rush and finish, stay in the class and finish (that is, once they have remembered if the teacher has a class next), or come back later and finish the test (that is, if the certain teacher even allows that). It is unfair when the teacher forgets you have testing accommodations. When you thought they actually "cared" about each student personally. It's unfair when the teacher doesn't understand exactly why you need extra time when some days you can finish a test just like everyone else.   It's unfair to try 4 different medicines and 3 dosage differences after experiencing depression, migraines, panic attacks, anxiety, off of appetite, and loss of interest in being with friends. It's unfair when they have to have a million and one papers signed to even have their accommodations approved, and thats after being testing while moving little red blocks around.   So to the girl who thinks it is unfair for kids with testing accommodations, it's very unfair.   Always remember situations are not always as they seem. There is more to every story than you will know. And loosely joking about the fat kid, the black kid, the short kid, the kid with health issues, and the kid who has testing accommodations actually hurts. Our Creator made everyone different to bring glory to His name, having differences is not bad at all. Being different is a blessing, however it's never ok to let someone take your differences to far and act like they know what is like to have them too.
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Dear Girl With Only One Favorite (Contributed by Max)

Today’s letter contributed by the always inspiring Max Dubinsky (@MaxDubinsky).

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Silent Sufferer (Contributed by Brian Hawkins)

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Thankful Writer (Contributed by Paige)

Today’s letter contributed by the brilliant Paige Baker (@vpbaker). Thanks Paige.

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Displaced Bridge Troll

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The Strength In Vulnerability

Dear Secret Sharers,  I admire your courage. Last night, you all walked up to the microphone and told us your secrets - the shameful ones, the ones that hurt you, the ones you still cried over even though they happened years ago. You broke down. Vulnerable. And yet, there was so much strength in your vulnerability. There's something about sharing your secrets with a room full of strangers that connects everyone. Because we've all been in those places, lonely, uncertain, self-conscious, self-hating. And when you shared your secrets, it was like a collective burden lifted. So for your courage... thank you. - Heidi