Here’s the truth about the truth: it hurts. So we lie.

You’re going to need a person in your life who makes you smile even when you’re mad. Who knows your heart like the back of her hand and calls you out on your bullshit. Who says “screw him,” and “I love you,” and “you got this,” and really means it. Late nights of long phone calls and laughing until your ribs hurt. You need a person who sees you for what you can be, what you will be, and never lets you be any less. A weirdo, preferably. Who yells your name across the street just to embarrass you. Who holds you when he breaks your heart and keeps you strong when he comes crawling back. Who tells the truth when she talks about life and makes you feel a little less alone. A person who is beyond words, beyond thanks, beyond what you could have asked for. Find this person. Trust me. You’re going to need her.

my therapist said: overcoming trauma is all about forgiveness and a positive attitude and i said: how do you forgive someone who doesn’t even think they did anything wrong

Sometimes I think the only reason I’m still alive is because I don’t have it in me to hurt the people around me. I’ve seen look of horrified shock that crossed my father’s face when he heard that my cousin had killed herself. I’ve seen a grieving mother cry while her only daughter lay in a closed casket just across the room from her. I’ve seen the look of fear that crossed a friend’s face when she thought that her own friend was contemplating suicide. I’ve seen images in my mind of my cousin lifting a gun to her head. Did she place the barrel against her temple? Against the underside of her chin? Inside her mouth? Did it happen like it does in the movies? Did she hesitate before pulling the trigger? Did she cry as she brought the gun upon herself? Did she have fear in her eyes? Did she think of the repercussions? Did she think of me? Of her boyfriend? Of her aunts and uncles? Of her mother? Did she regret it all in the millisecond between pulling the trigger and losing her life? I keep playing it over and over again in my mind, I keep wondering, was it really worth it? Did she really want to die? Was she in pain, did she feel relief, did she feel empty, did she feel suffocated? I keep asking myself these goddamn questions but I know I’ll never receive an answer. And that’s why I can’t do it myself. I couldn’t put my friends, my family, my neighbors, my peers, my parents through it all. I couldn’t let them wonder what I’ve wondered, imagine what I’ve imagined, feel what I’ve felt. But still, if I were to forget about them, there would be nothing holding me back. If I didn’t understand the depths of the consequences, I fear that maybe, just maybe, I’d take that leap, that bullet, that rope around my neck. Sometimes, I feel like I only keep myself alive for the people around me.

When my friends ask me if I’m okay, I tell them that I’m tired. When I tell my friend’s that I’m tired, they ask how much sleep I got. I tell them “only a few hours” and they laugh and ask my why. But how do I answer that question? How do I tell them that I can’t sleep at night because I usually wake up sweating, crying, confused? How do I tell them that sometimes I choose not to sleep at all because I want a break from the dreams, from the memories, from the constant anxiety that my mind faces on a daily -on a nightly- basis? How do I tell them that I don’t want to be here, that I hate being alive, that I hate who I am? How do I tell them that those scars on my thigh aren’t actually from falling in gravel when I was younger? How do I tell them that my house isn’t my home, that sometimes I’m convinced that my heart is no longer in my chest? How do I tell them that I feel numb more often than I feel okay? How do I tell them that I’m not okay?

Some days, I feel everything at once. Other days, I feel nothing at all. I don’t know what’s worse: Drowning beneath the waves Or dying from the thirst.

I don’t think you understand what I mean when I say I’m tired of everything. I don’t think you understand that I’m literally drained of all hope, of all comfort. I’m tired of waking up in the morning, tired of making myself something to eat during the day, tired of replying to voiceless text messages. I’m tired of sticking the key in the front door when I get home, tired of making small talk with family members, tired of staring at the walls when I don’t know what I should be doing. I’m tired of taking pills for my headaches each night, tired of filling up my water bottle, tired of tying my shoes before I leave the house. I’m tired of turning up the car radio, tired of talking with my friends, tired of staring at the stars in the sky. I’m tired of going to bed at night, tired of waking up in a cold sweat, tired of having to stare into the immense darkness of 3:00 am. I’m tired of breathing. I’m tired of thinking. I’m tired of living. I’m tired of everything.

if there is anything you learn from me, let it be this: there is no statute of limitations on healing. there is no expiration date on the ache that won’t stop following you around no matter who tells you there is. i do not mean to hurt you when i tell you this; your kiss with trauma or the nights you spent with death, these things are not going to leave you as quickly as you wish they would. it hurt and it’s going to keep hurting. do not forgive and forget. do not bury this and believe it is leaving. it isn’t going to leave you as suddenly as it came so stop trying to pretend it is. cry if you still need to. breathe if you still can. do not be angry at yourself for hurting still. do not be angry at yourself for hurting still. do not be angry at yourself for hurting still.

You’ll get through this.“ That’s what people say, don’t they? They said it to me. It really pissed me off. What exactly does it mean to "get through this”? Through what? What’s on the other side? I didn’t want to get through it. I wanted to die … In it. And then my mom, she said that grief is like a suitcase that sits at the bottom of your bed. And no matter what, without fail, you have it pick it up every day, take it with you. Some days, it will be filled with rocks, and you won’t think you can carry it. And then other days … Light as a feather. That, she said, is “getting through it.” It made sense to me.