And Just Me.
No clichés…
No humor…
No pretending…
Just Nita without the famous mask talking to you
And you know who you are, if you’re still here, and if you read this
(however, if you read this and you even think it’s you, but it isn’t then it probably applies to you – so yeah, then I’m talking to you too)

Last night I cried for you…
I cried for you and I cried for me…
I cried for all of us.
I cried for all of the hardship & pain you have had to endure in this life,
I cried at the unfairness of it all.
I cried for all the kids and adults who were damaged beyond repair
By the people who were supposed to love them the most.

I cried because you trusted me enough to reach out to me
I cried because I wasn’t sure what to do to help.
It broke my heart to hear you say that no one loves you
And to know that you really believe you are bad and unlovable.
I know you’re scared
I know you hurt
I know that you think there is only one way out of the all-consuming pain.
I believe you when you say you can’t do it anymore.
I know you feel that way.
I know because I feel that way too.

I know about all of those things.
What I don’t know is how to help you get through it.
How to make it okay for you.
For any of us.

I care about you.
I love you.
But I know that my voice is not nearly as loud as the critic inside of you.
The one who has convinced you that you don’t matter
That you are bad and unlovable the world would be better off without you.
I don’t know how to fight that voice either.

If I were with you right now
I would sit with you
I would bandage your cuts for you.
I would tell you in person that I care.
I think of you
I cry for you
I wonder how you are doing.
In fact, I’m wondering how you are doing right now.
I don’t know if you are dead or alive.
I don’t know if you made it through the night.
I hope you did but I don’t know.
That’s selfish of me to say – because I understand not wanting to,
And the mere pain of actually “waking up” day after day.

I’m sorry if my suggestions last night seemed to you like putting a Barbie band-aid on a point blank shotgun wound to the chest. I’m sure it must have felt like that. Sometimes I wish I had a tourniquet instead. But I don’t. But at least I didn’t offer you any kool-aid, or tell you to hold an ice cube, or peel an orange , right? (cuz we know that **** don’t work for sure!)

I don’t know the way out of this, my friend.
If I did, I would scream it from the rooftops.
But I hope you know that even though I am absolutely 200% insane & totally unhelpful,
I do care about you.
And I thank you for inviting me into your life…and for leaving your footprint on mine.