"If she counted how many times she looked looked in the mirror, tears streaming down her red hot face, crying more at the sight then at what she had first begun crying over, she would be counting for a long, long time. Tears became the normal for every night she stayed up past 6:00, for every weekend, for every holiday. Nothing seemed normal to Solien anymore, but her tears. Ever since the collapse of her memory, Solien hadn't wanted to cope with even life. She walked through the halls at school with people shouting her name and waving, but her fake smile could be identified as fake from the furthest hall length in the building. She struggled devotedly with who she was, she played tug of war with wrong, but evil always found a way to pull her back into the depths of her tears and pools of it which she often choked hysterically on. Her life was a huge cliff hanger, followed by a path with no resolution. Her problems came and faded, then more came along. Solien devoted her life to being hopeful, always looking forward to the sun rising the next day. I know she loved me, she hid the words into messages and no matter what, always put me above herself. It was selfish of me to act how I did. I didn't tell her that I loved her as much as I should have, but she knew I did. When I see her again, the first thing I'll do is say those three words. I love you." Spoke Thomas over the sobbing audience, disgusted with himself for never laughing enough with Solien, the now lifeless corpse that sank into the ground, shielded by a coffin, not three feet from his own. He recalled years prior, when he held her when she cried, and not a year prior, when he stopped.

Every time I hear your name
The pain still echoes in my mind
Every tear I cried has turned
Into a scar on my heart
I'm unsure when it will go away
I thought we were done
But with you back
I can't control how I'm feeling
Bypassing understanding
....I'm lost
...but they don't understand. They can't understand. You don't understand the concept of not missing something until it's gone, until you actually lose something you desperately loved. For me, this tragedy, opened up an entire home for this saying in my head. I remember the chill of the breeze on that new November day, walking outside with the anticipation of seeing him-- only to realize that I wouldn't be. But most of all, I remember everyday after that, sitting back, watching the conversations fade and feeling the current scenario take an over-exaggerated plot twist. Not only do I recall the pain, but I recall the cancelled plans and faulty promises, all of the things that took me away; all of the things that drove me over the edge. It was like a dream, the kind that you can't remember but wish you did, even more so, the kind you remember but wish you couldn't. All of that disappeared with him, but now with him back in the picture he faded out of, I'm not sure how long I can bear the memory of the loss that I once felt. Truth of it is, I miss him, but unlike so many times before, I now refrain from taking the chance of more bullshit. Lost trust, brokenness, pain, it all haunts me, more and more, every time his eyes become parallel to mine. Every time the sound waves that his voice box produces carry to me, I shake; I shake because it triggers a familiar memory of solace, and I have no more solace left. The love that I used to let burn my judgment away left a singe in my head, this scarred me, and now that wound proves to be fatal, everyday, as I am reminded of what was. The things I know cannot be. But here I prove that loss is inevitable, change is inevitable, and destiny is reality. It is all proven in extensive messes and the fears we face day by day. What you must remember is that there is always an opportunity to correct your mindset, you can push yourself to overcome any obstacle. Time moves on, and that should be motivation enough for you to too.

I'm jealous of me... From two thousand thirteen. The one in his head, holding his attention, too far in the clouds for disappointment. The me that smiled and dreamed, the one that held in her hand his.
At the same time
I feel pain and mourn for the two thousand fourteen me, the one without security. Facing her first true heartbreak, foolishly thinking it would be her last. Not cherishing the smiles of her brothers or laughs of her father. Breaking over the loss of the boy from two thousand thirteen
Then
I cry constantly, for the two thousand fifteen me. The one who used to be full of faith and hope, until all reality ripped away the seams in two thousand fourteen. The thread named family. Metal clanking, the sirens flashing, everything going numb. The sound of the patter of the officers boots across my porch.
Me, currently
It's the beginning of the end of two thousand fifteen, three months in, 7 months since the loss of everything. All that's left from the scattered dreams and the brutal reality, is the idea that everything will eventually be alright. But, it doesn't seem right. I can't sleep at night. Every second is a fight. Panic attacks come in routine, breakdowns are my new hobby, and the future seems dead to me.
Now I just sit around accounting for the past that so extremely changed me. Hoping, that maybe, there's a light at the end of this tragedy.

I can't tell them to be patient. I can't tell them to hope or to wait. There's a time, a time frame which is holding us all captive. We're in shackles dragging across the hollow halls and wrapped tightly around my barely beating heart. That won't change. It's not a thing that I can fantasize out of and wake up with them beside me. It isn't something I can taunt out of my head. It's reality. And the reality of it is that we are separated, for an immense amount of time, and holding onto "eventually" won't make the pain any less, or put my head back on. I don't see pain as eternal but I do see it as inevitable. What is missing from my everyday life is more than happiness or fun, it's love. That bond that I have held onto for all my life suddenly tested, crashing my world down. It takes much more than a year to build it all back up again.

I'd go back to that 14th, 2014 and tell him that I love him, that's why I was so distant. I'd tell him how I didn't want to hear him call me babe or baby because it hurt so much to feel this strongly about someone who never thought me more than a friend. I'd look into his eyes and tell him I didn't want to live my life outside of his. But things are different now. Today is but a day in 2015, where the only thing the word "love" means to me is what has been lost in my life. I think of being happy and I can't remember a time where I was. I want to be happy, but I don't want it without them. Those that I cannot have. It's a pity that this is the way life is to those who are the most unlucky to have a rocky travel through it. I don't wish to feel this way, if anything I'd like to rip up the negative energy. But, we live in a world where energy cannot be touched, mental wounds cannot be healed, and what's lost emotionally cannot be reattached. That's just how it is, in hardly half of a way have I accepted it yet. I love that kid more than I have been able to love a lot of things. Loving him is so dangerous because we have different versions of love. It alters everything in my life. His mindset and emotions are unaltered. I don't know if I want to take a risk and push for a change that later I might grow to regret. I would never regret the time I spent loving him. But, I've been forced to live a life on the edge of hope, still chasing a destiny I left behind. Loving him is dangerous. But don't worry, I have realized that there won't be any more of that. I realized that
I throw everything way out of proportion.
All those feelings fought by me were nonexistent. I was slapping air and crying blanks. Shit doesn't mean anything anymore, all of that is just the past. Three words of advice for you people,
1. Don't
2. Hold
3. On

I don't curve or insult or mislead you away because I don't want you. I do it because I know I can't have you. I know it's not an option, it isn't a possibility. It's not what you want. And my perception is that I care about you so much that I am willing to sacrifice the pleasure you would receive from me being flirtatious back, for a lifetime of pain for me, just so you are content, happy, and worry free from a disaster such as myself falling for you, again. 

 I had someone say in my direction that depression isn't defined by people with hard lives, but that it is only a disease defined by people with good lives, who are just sad; for no reason. Also, that after depressed once, depression never goes away, but always remains with you. Repeated day after day, or month after month. By the pathetic and unrealistic sound of that, I'd say he was speaking out of his ass. What prick would have the audacity to look at me, of all people, some worse off, and say those words? To clarify, to the most massive extent that I can cover with this quite debatable topic, I must say how awfully and intensely wrong this man is. Not because I have the right to judge people based on their opinions, because I don't, but because of the insult that has been taken by his very vocal cords moving to create such a close minded accusation.

To edify my point of this use of my time, I must state that feelings to me are that of personal matters. Though most times I hate keeping my problems to myself, in most cases solving your own problems, is your duty as an independent. I live by wishing to write my own life, and by doing so, I must live and experience each part of it to the full extent. Help isn't cheap, nor is it generally necessary. However, I have been faced with explosions of painful scenarios. Life, even for myself, as a young human, has been the most challenging. I have lost myself amongst the people who have appeared good for me and the lies of the many deceitful people around me. Of course I may babble about heartbreak, falsified hope, and loss, but overall, most of my life has yet to be lived. You never know what the next day will bring. Tragedy does not last forever. At some point, pain will end. At least on this earth.

Going on from that, I must inform you of just how inaccurate this person appears to be, according to my experience verses his. "Depression: feelings of severe despondency and dejection" Is the literal definition of depression. But, for deeper emphasis on the meaning I will begin to describe depression from what I have experienced, just as this, "depressed, with straight As, skilled and high profile sportsman," did. Currently, I would not call myself depressed. Of all things sad, I may attempt to refer to myself as a massive wreck, not socially, but mentally. I have been depressed once and only once. Never again to be, well assured.

He stated that depression is that of a leech. He ensured that once depression is received (from nothing, obviously) it never goes away. However, I am living proof that depression does go away. With the right people, right amount of time, and right conversations. Who is this man to say that there is no hope and no outcome for people struggling? The answer is simple, he is no one. He has no authority in any sense of the word to walk onto a stage and state that what? That depression appearing in hurting people who are in tragic situations, is not real, and that which perfect people experiencing sadness are is depressed, also, that for either or, it will never go away.

The question is, what do I call depression? What did I experience that has made me so insistent about denying the content of his opinion?

There was a girl. Blinded by what appeared to be love from friends and giggles thought to be happiness. She didn't appreciate the time spent with her twisted family. Though life at home was rough, sleeping on a mattress that was old and on the floor, hardly provided with the proper essentials to live a well life, she made it through just okay. Her oldest brother, the one that always protected her and gave her advice, was gone for the military. She felt alone, but the brothers she had left were more than enough, they were entertainment and distraction, while her best friends were reassurance that life would get better, that she would make it through. But, along came the shocking betrayal of her best friends, soon after, the bullying. This girl was naïve, never experienced anything quite like that disappointment and heart tugging reality before that moment. It took a toll on her mind. Made her feel weak. She watched as girls her age bragged about self harm for attention and she often debated suicide, she began to want an end, and she didn't see any other way than nonexistence. The pain was so deep that one point she almost faded away into oblivion. Bleeding from the wrist, mother in the next room. She was so low and depressed that her life almost ended that night.

 That girl was me. I sat on the floor, looking at the mess and feeling the pain I had caused myself, to myself. Nothing, not the betrayal from "friends," nor the pain from loss, nor home life disaster compared even slightly to the disappointment I felt in myself. I looked in the mirror, threw the blade, and told myself that never again would I let someone else tear me down again. My life, my choice. I felt anger and disgust. Since that day, I have built myself up. Through making bonds with my brothers, repairing my confidence, and growing to know a even wiser and better friend than the person looking back at me in the mirror. Even though that friend left, even though my brothers have been ripped away. Through all of that sadness. More pain than you can even begin to imagine. Not once have I fallen down since that night that I have not rose off of the ground stronger than I was when I first had fallen. That is a story that should be told to people. Not some bullshit leap for attention by a prick telling all the people who have experienced worse than I and myself included that depression will come back, and that none of it is real. That depression is only that which good people, with good lives have when they are sad. I don't agree with a single words stated from his misinformed being. I relate to people going through hard situations, and that very well may be the reason I am so intent on exposing his lie. Suicide isn't the answer. That isn't coming from a teacher, or a parent, or a critic. That is coming from someone who has been there, who has felt pain. This man's point of view is insulting. If there is ever a time when you feel low because of anything or anyone, just remember, no one can make you feel like shit but you and no douchebag with a microphone can determine your state of mind.

Words can be used to solve problems, fix things, save lives, bond people, change moods, better the world, create hope. But on most occasions we see them used as simple minded methods for disaster. For instance, we can be solving problems but instead we spend our time taunting our egos with more and more cruel things to say... only causing more trauma and pain. We could be saving lives but instead we're tweeting about the hell we're in... only caring about ourselves. We could be making bonds with people to ensure them a role in our future but we instead hold our narcissistic heads high and break off relationships, misuse friends, and ignore the people we once cared so much about. We could be using our intellect to better each other's moods but instead, we say cruel things and bring ourselves down with one another. We can be bettering the world with peace and love but Facebook has become too important to go out and actually make a difference, we find ourselves complaining of all the bitter things wrong with the world. We could be creating hope by speaking of us, simply thinking of all the times we've been down but were brought back up again. Use your words wisely, the impact of them effect more than you know.

 It's not the same without someone you love. Nights turn into nightmares and the figurative pain you have only witnessed vaguely become a reality. The hurt you feel holds your mind under it's control, comparing it's own hurt to the hurt of unimaginative loss, then creates a diminishable longing that pours into your heart and head. You don't feel safe anymore, just vulnerable and weak. Pain. It over takes your mind, even more so, until you actually believe you're alone... even with a hundred friends by your side. First stage: You feel as if it won't last. Second: The feelings evolve into hope. Third: Hope is decimated and before you have time to catch your breath, brutal reality consumes everything you know and everything you are. This reality leaves you in doubt, with the sole truth that everything you believed was a lie. What remains of your sanity transforms into pain and your only guidance is your past. Yesterday. The never ending day which reminds you everyday of who you once knew and how you once felt. This occurrence striking you as odd, you cry. Over, over, and back until you are unsure of who you are anymore. All this becomes the thing that so distinctly sets you aside from the many people around you. Life; without meaning. Hope; non-existent. The hurt in your heart and tear in your eye then define you. You must hide them though, if not, pity will follow beside the many other fatalities you are forced to deal. A mysterious person you become, to yourself. The only way you seem to be able to express your thoughts is through written lines on meaningless paper. But, even your words don't seem to do slight justice for what's going on in your head. "I know what you're going through." They say so evidently faithful in their words. They believe so strongly in their false opinions that it disgusts me. 'I should have...' I pause. Finishing the sentence and many more after it with the regretted details of what I should have done, how I should have cherished every moment spent with the ones I loved... all of the good times. Instead, I remained in the haze that fooled me into thinking infinity was an option. Now, out of reach, I regret every misspoken word. Everything I did not say. I wasn't positive enough. I wasn't supportive enough. I didn't love hard enough. I should have. Thoughts racing and your heart breaking you suddenly feel nothing at all. Which just happens to be the worst way to feel pain, because you know that when you do feel again, you'll feel everything all over again twice as hard. Stilled silence over takes your mind. The tears stop, as does the shaking, and you are left in an unnamed emotional state, reminiscing and battling the facts that present themselves so clearly now. The only words you find are 'what if' and 'what now' ? You never even figured this feeling was an option, it didn't even come to mind. It was never possible until this point. You never thought it'd come down to this. You never thought forever would end so soon. The off and on pain transforms into rage because that's your go-to feeling. That's all you ever knew and the one thing you could always turn to when things went south. Ice consumes your heart and your own feelings shatter it. The last light left lingering in your eye goes out. You aren't dead, but, neither are you alive. Alive doesn't feel like this. Truth of it is, no genius has defined these moments. There has yet to be some person to come around and decipher the meaning of this metaphorical fence I sit on. As pessimistic and awfully negative as I sound, one might choose to ignore it. But, taking me literally or not this truth is inevitable. This feeling does happen, and at some point demands to be felt. Feelings like this might fade with time, but they will never cease to exist.

This is my curse.

"Doesn't matter."
"I don't care."
I used to say. It was the truth. No one could hurt me, their words were powerless. But, my past holds the key to my annihilation. My past is my weakness. A simple raise in voice can invoke a series of memories rushing back to the surface of my attempt of a shielded brain. The name of a lost love can drive me over and with not only memories of pain I also receive memories of heart break. It breaks me. But, I manage to keep the tears held inside. Because, crying is weakness. They shouldn't have to witness my down fall. Their apology should patch everything up. But, it just doesn't. I am taken back in time where his arm was pulled back, the leather so poetically and agonizingly held, him anticipating the pleasure he receives from watching me cry. I replay the memory in slow motion, watching his arm swing down, and unleash pure pain on me. Then, I am taken to another time. A time where I held all the hope in the world that the reuniting with my best friend would take away the pressure on my chest. Where I pictured a day I would see him again, when that was the only thing keeping me going day by day, monumentally broken down into nothingness. I remember rising back up, shielding myself from all this remembrance. With few simple words shouted directly at me my wall crashes down. For a second the pain comes back and the lump begins to return in my throat as the pressure and weight that once resided on my chest again makes an appearance. I go back to feeling like a means to an end, a pointless human being. I wish to be free of this pain. Yet, I cannot be. It's torture, my past. Something someone so blind to it's impact uses as a tool for war. It's not like they know what they're doing. They were only just explaining their side of the situation. They do not understand pain like I do. They're normal. I'm the fucked up one. Who am I to blame this pain on them? Therefore, I do not. I just hold it all in once more, patch up what remains of my sanity, and give up. It was bound to happen at some point, better now than sometime when I can't control the outcome.