This is a letter to everyone who said,
“You can’t.” or “You're not good enough.”
To all the dream-crushers and the life-suckers,
this is to you:

When I was six, I was happy.
The world was my oyster and the other kids were just,
playing around, harmless and innocent.
They didn’t mean anything.

Then I was ten;
starting to realize that those words weren’t jokes and games.
And although the light of hope was still burning, those words,
those blatant lies and stories that you spun purely to mess with my mind-
I was ten.

By twelve, I had gotten good at lying.
“Surely,” I thought,
“one friend doesn’t mean you’re lonely.”
“books are more fun than people anyway!”
“they just don’t have the time, it’s not that they hate you.”
“it’s not that bad, they’ll be back.”
“everything is fine.”
“no friends doesn’t mean you’re lonely.”
“next year will be a clean slate.”

Fourteen.
My mind was filled with Hate and Love and Death.
Love,
for the girl once best friend, now girlfriend.
Hate,
rarely for those who hurt me and exclusively for myself.
I blamed myself for those words they had spoken.
Death.
I was tired of the hate and the pain.
I just wanted to sleep.
To rest.

15
My mind is still plagued by shadows, but the is filled with light once more.
The Hate and Death still haunt like pale unwelcome specters,
but hope and home and love shine them out.
Love,
grown even stronger for the girl who has been there for me for hard day,
who I still sometimes cannot believe I am fortunate enough to call my girlfriend.
Home,
for the new friends with pasts like my own that care and support.
Hope.
Because even though this battle is won, the fight isn’t over.
There’s still going to be days when summoning the will to get out of bed is a victory.
There are still going to be days when people say,
“You can’t.” or “You’re not good enough.”
But that doesn’t mean there won’t be days
when a smile and laughter are true, and not just a mask for the pain.
When there are days I am filled with such happiness that I could

Live.

If there is one thing I’ve learned so far, it’s that
life is a series of hills.
For every up, there might be a down,
but there is always going to be another hill.

So, this is a letter to everyone who said,
“You can’t.” or “You're not good enough.”
To all the dream-crushers and the life-suckers;
this is to you:

This is my story, and its only the beginning.