Hello. Most of you don’t even know who I am, but you see me every day. I am the girl that you ask to help with your homework, the “ Who knows the answer to number 11?” girl. But even the ones that know my name don’t really know me. Not even my closest friends. They don’t know the anxiety, the pressure, the constant fear of what might happen if I don’t pass in this test? How is my sister doing? Are they treating her right? If I fail this, will my future change? What about boys? Actually, no. Not going there. Because I am the smart girl who gives them the answers because I don’t feel like challenging the social ladder. Because I am a simple girl with a perfect life, right? Wrong. We all have problems, and I am willing to bet that some of you know where I am coming from. And maybe some of you have had it harder than me.

And that is why I put it all in. I smile, but it’s not in my eyes. I laugh, but does anyone hear how hollow my voice is? I get good grades, and when I don’t, it’s a big deal. I got a lower grade in my French class, and the class laughed. I scored an 88. Think about that. I am always pushed to do the right thing, do good in school, make a life for yourself. I HAD to get all above 95’s in Middle School. I HAD to make honor roll. My mother was counting on me as the perfect twin.

But what about me? How am I doing? Fine, fine, fine. That’s all that is ever said. All anyone hears. And if we are going to be honest with ourselves, all anyone cares about. Because no one wants to deal with that icky, nasty thing we label “The Truth”. That’s right folks. Because not everyone who looks okay is. Because not everyone who laughs isn’t crying on the inside. And not everyone one who smiles isn’t lying.

Now when you look down the halls of this school, how do you see people? Popular, football player, cheerleader, gamer geek, fat, gay, lesbian, emo, cutter, punk, teacher’s pet, and even the occasional ew freshmen. But no one know’s that their thoughts, they aren’t just in their minds. All thoughts find a way out. And these thoughts of yours that called us geek, nerd, teacher’s pet. We know them. We hear them. And they become our thoughts.

No one wants to hear this. There’s this voice in my head telling me I might pass out.... now! What if I mess this up? Will my teacher judge me? What about my friends? Are they going to like me, or leave me? My sister, her friends, how are they going to take this? Oh God, what if? But what happens when... Will they.... And someone will understand this feeling inside. The feeling of absolute dread. The feeling that you are going to die.

Welcome to the world of anxiety. The world of never ending worries, the realm of reliving nightmares that you haven’t had yet. The place where your worst fears become a reality. Anxiety is where you worry about things that haven’t happened yet, where people talk behind your back without ever saying a word. This is my world. What is yours?

Dear Best friend,

You know who you are. You are the beautiful girl in the back of the class, who keeps to herself, but is still strangely likable. You are the girl with the piercing blue eyes and dark, dark sense of humor.

Dear Best Friend,

I know you literally are always willing to listen, whether it is talking about our mutual crush on that guy in our favourite class, or complaining about society, or my parents, or when I just need to talk about the weather to distract myself from the looming fear of everything going wrong.


Dear Best Friend,

I still remember when you first told me about your depression. I had always sort of known, but hearing you say it out loud, I honestly didn’t know what to do, because I don’t want you to end up like me, I don’t want you to feel like you have to turn to sharp inanimate objects, I don’t want your world to be dark, hopeless, I don’t want you to fall because depression is a slippery *****, trust me. I don’t want you to forever be broken. I don’t want you to be scared.

I just don’t want you to end up as ****** up as me.

Dear Best Friend,

I know I’m not perfect, I’m not even close, and I ***** up... A lot. But I will do what ever I can to ALWAYS be there for you. I will always be the dorky, idiotic, annoying sidekick.

Dear Best Friend,

You are beautiful, don’t let anyone, ever tell you otherwise. Especially not some 12 year old boy with a stupid haircut.

You are short, there is no denying that, but so is Billie Joe Armstrong and we still think he is the hottest thing since wood stoves.

You have blue eyes, that I know you think are weird, but they are like oceans only not as dark.

Your hair is almost as straight as the members in half the bands we listen to, but each curl falls in it’s own special place

You are beautiful, stunning, breath-taking, and every other synonym for that word.

Dear Best Friend,

I’m sorry you have to put up with me when I am like this. I know I should just bottle it up, but for whatever reason it always seems like I can’t stop the words from escaping. I’m sorry, I am so so sorry that you have to deal with me.

Dear Best Friend,

I really want to smack you upside the face with a brick sometimes. But I won’t, because I am more scared of you hitting back than I am of doctors (and that’s saying something)

Dear Best Friend,

I promise that I will always be there as long as you need me, whether it’s in the middle of the night or when I am thousands of miles away with timezone barriers between us, just call me. When you are scared, call me. When what you are scared of is yourself, call me. When you need a friend, call me. When you want to gush about your new boyfriend, call me. When you want to just chat, call me.

Dear Best Friend,

At this point I think of you more like a sister that a friend.

So, Dear Sister, I love you so much. Thank you for showing me that even the darkest nights have a sunrise, and that those sunrises are always the most spectacular.

Imagine living in a world where you can’t leave your house without your life being in danger, where you couldn’t go to school, work, or even to the grocery store to pick up some friggin’ milk!

A world where you aren’t just judged for what makes you different, but killed for it.

This is the world some people live in, A world of hate, fear, and death.

A world where they can’t walk down the street holding their loved one’s hand, they can’t go to school, they can’t even leave their house without fearing for their lives.

We look back at history and think, “****, look how far we have come.” But have we really progressed that far? Are we really making the progress we so desperately need? Where is today’s Harvey Milks and Martin Luther Kings when we need them most?

What about Matthew Shepard, Lawrence King, Trayvon Martin, Sakia Gunn, James Byrd, and those are just the one’s who made the news. What about the thousands of people who are injured and killed for who they love, the pigment of their skin and where they are from?

It is 2 thousand 14, not 1920, so grow up people, and realize that what make us different shouldn’t be the reason we fear for our lives. Human shouldn’t be a death sentence. Because we are all pink on the inside, or at least that’s what I’ve heard, and we all bleed red or at least that’s what I have seen...

Dear You,

It was March 22, 2013. It was a cold, wet day and I decided that rather that risk frostbite I would go online, maybe go on twitter, check some stuff, little did I know this was the day you would tell me it was all over, that after 12 years. 12 YEARS. That is 144 months, 4383 days, and a **** ton of hours and minutes. That there would be 1 paragraph, 6 ******* sentences telling me it was all over, you were leaving me to fend for my self in this dark cruel world.

You said that you were just a concept, an idea, I was strong enough to carry on without you,... Well I call *******!

Cause you were there for me when no one else was, you got me, you understood how much society freaking ***** and you kept me strong.

Maybe I do scare the living **** out of you, maybe you just stopped caring...

You tell me to “look alive, sunshine” But how can I look alive when you leaving left me so dead inside?

Yet, I still hold on to the hope that some day you will come back to join us in the black parade, and lead this army of killjoys.

Until then, however, I am not okay (I promise)