In school, they teach you math and science, but they don't teach you about boys who pick apart your heart like flower petals, singing,
"I love her not, I love her not, I love her not."
My teachers did not show me how to pick myself up off the ground when he leaves. They did not teach me how to delete your text messages, burn your letters, and tear apart your pictures.
When I was in school, they did not teach me that smiles are fragile, and that once they're broken, they take years to repair.
I was not taught about boys like you, who are gentle with scarred skin. I was not warned of boys like you, who cower in heaps on their bed when they're lonely.
Nor did my mother tell me how to be careful with my mind full of secrets.
Never in school did they tell me that bed sheets can get lonely when he's not there to fill the space.

Sleeping is dangerous: You will dream of sunshine and happiness, but wake up to a dark cold room where you are reminded of why you went to sleep in the first place. It may seem like a safe-haven at first but eventually it becomes your only way of coping.
Words can be deceiving: You'll learn to stop trusting what people say, mainly because your mom lied to you 27 times about her drinking. You were only 6 when you learned that people lie.
Scars are not beautiful: Occasionally you'll pick up a razor and slide it across your skin, thinking, "this will make me a warrior." You'll watch as blood blossoms and blooms out of your skin. After a year or two you'll discover that you made a mistake and your legs will never be the same.
Medicine isn't magic: After two years of counseling your doctor might suggest to you xanex, and you'll think, "wow these really work." Maybe they'll continue to amaze you for a year, but eventually it'll wear off and you'll come to the conclusion that your "magic meds" were merely masking emotions that you can't get rid of.
People aren't always nice: Once you enter school and find your place, it'll become clear that everyone is hateful in some aspect of life. Kids will be mean and say awful things to you, things that make you realize at 11 years old that you are not "normal."
Crying is okay: Some days, maybe even everyday, you will break down and cry. It might be a few tears, or an entire waterfall. There is nothing wrong with that.

After four years of being diagnosed with depression I've learned that coping isn't easy, and that recovery takes more effort than just thinking, "well, I am trying."