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As I grew up I never had anyone to turn to.

Sure I had friends,

But they didn’t understand.

The anger.

The pain.

The feeling of being so unwanted.

I knew people loved me.

I knew people cared.

But the monster deep down inside,

The monster destroyed me.

It would keep telling me how no body,

Not my mother, my father, nor my bestfriends,

It would tell me that they did not care.

It caused me to iscolate myself.

I hid.

Everyone would ask me if I was ok.

“I’m fine.” I would say and fake a smile.

I did not want to talk about what was wrong.

They would think I was crazy.

They would think something was wrong with me.

Something was wrong with me.

I was allowing depression to take over me.

Causing me to bottle everything up.

The one person that seemed to really understand.

The one person who never thought I did anything wrong.

The ONE PERSON who ACTUALLY believed in me.

That one person was my grandma.

She knew no matter what I did,

No matter how many times I failed.

She told me to get right back up.

“Don’t let a fight ruin your happiness.

Don’t let a word, a phrase, a person

Ruin who you are.

You’re strong.”

And I believed her.

But she was gone.

The one person that I had.

She was supposed to be there my whole life.

She was going to watch me graduate highschool.

She was going to watch me graduate college.

Get married.

Have kids.

She was supposed to be there until I was ready to let her go.

And she won’t be.

I wasn’t ready to let her go.

I never wanted to let her go.

I fell in further into depression.

Grief took me over.

 I was a junior in highschool.

My first to last year of highschool.

I let it get to me.

I kept pushing people away.

I needed help.

But I wouldn’t let anyone in.

 They didn’t understand.

How could they understand what it was like to lose someone like her.

They couldn’t.

My depression caused me to be suicidal.

My first week of senior year.

I wrote a letter.

I couldn’t do it anymore.

I couldn’t handle feeling so lost.

So alone.

I was done.

And

I didn’t go through with it.

But it made me realize.

I am not the only teenager who feels like that.

There has to be others.

Grief takes over so many peoples life.

There has to be more.

I want to become a therapist.

And I don’t want to be the kind that sits there

Clipboard in hand covered in doodles.

Constantly saying, “how does that make you feel.”

I want to talk with teenagers that experience depression.

I want to show them that there’s more to life.

Drugs.

Alcohol.

Cutting.

Suicide.

None of it is the answer.

There is a reason to everyone.

I want to help people like me.

I want to help.

 

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