There are some days I feel like I can conquer the world. The other days I feel that the world is going to crush me alive. This is how it feels to be haunted by scars of the past, because even if you learn to endure them, you still feel every weight and sting. And there are just days you don’t have the spirit to continue on walking forward to the future.

Hang on there because you can. Even if you don’t believe that you can. They may be your scars but remember they aren’t bleeding anymore. Even if the reminder pains you, remember that you would overcome it one day and look back to realize that scars aren’t fatal wounds. Scars are wounds that are healed and a prove of what you went through.

Don’t let a healed wound, even if it’s still painful, hold you back from moving forward.

People with real depression don’t take pictures of their scars and post online. They don’t cut themselves and show to others like a trophy to the world. Perhaps some would, but most wouldn’t because depression is a very secretive, humiliating thing to them. How could it be not when they can’t even have control over it?

Most of the time, people with depression sailed through life without red lines on their wrists. Instead, it’s carved into the threads of life, carved into the shoulders and back of these people. If you look closely, you can see their backs slouching, as if under the weight of something. They smile and laugh but at another moment, they cry and get angry at small things that don’t matter to you, but matter to them.

People don’t get depressed because they want to. People get depressed because they can’t look further than their pain and they are wallowed so deep into it like a whirlpool sucking in material. There’s no escape route for them, or so it seems. They can’t help but to wallow in it because they don’t know how to get out of it. It’s that hopeless, empty feeling that they have to live with. Pain is better to feel; at least you don’t feel empty.

So stop romanticizing depression. Stop making it seem like it’s something you wish to have because it’s easy to have attention on you. It’s not the cutting that defines them; it’s the feeling they feel. Don’t put these feelings so lightly because more than once, they wished they were in your position, free from that whirlpool of pain that seemed to be endless.

There are things I want that I’ll never get.

Things that aren’t reachable or the price is too high to pay. They dangled right in front of me, baiting me to pay the price that I can’t afford to. And I can’t help it, to think of what if I had it during good times. How would my life be better? How would I be happier?

Life is full of sacrifices. You sacrifice one thing for the other. It’s the matter of what you want more. I want that thing very much but I can’t do it to jeopardize what I have now. It’s a constant struggle and until I want something different that I can afford to pursue, I would have to struggle between these two wants.

Life is a struggle of wants. Maybe that’s why we write: to give an illusion that we got what we want.

Is beauty always like this?

Laced with razor blades?

Ready to draw blood?

"Yes," she says.

Embrace your pain.

Usually when I wake at 3AM

It feels like blinds flung open -

Sunshine rushing in.

Yet it’s still dark of course.

And the night is silent.

(Except for that little drone in my head.)

But last night was different.

Before bed, I was reading Walt Whitman.

Last night

My 3AM wake-up call was a Barbaric Yawp.

And damn,

For once, it felt really good.

Red. The color of many things. The color of anger. Agitated flesh. Blood.

The red coming out of her did not scare her like it did most people. "She could not keep her colors inside the lines so she drew new ones." She could not keep her colors inside the lines. She already had too many and still she drew more. The cool silver blade running across her arms. She didn't know why- but it was comforting. It shouldn't've been but it was.

It was a way for her to feel something. Something besides completely numb. It was a way to release her fear, anger, and everything else. She didn't understand why, but it was a way for her to release everything. She only wore long sleeves, hoddies, and never anything else. Once, when there were only a few, she wore a bandana over them during spirit week. People asked about it and she decided to never even dare again to wear anything that wouldn't completely cover her scars.

In the summer, she kept inside, staying pale. When school came around, everyone made fun of her for being so pale. They spoke of their trips to other countries and she talked of how she watched nearly every Netflix suggestion.

The things that once comforted her, books, music, writing, it only caused her more pain. It reminded her of who she used to be. Of the girl who was okay. "What am I supposed to say when I'm all choked up that you're okay."

She hated that girl. The one that was okay. The girl who could laugh with the ones she called her friends. The girl who could write pages at a time without stopping. She loathed her with all of herself.

One day. Too much red came out of her.

I paint my nails the color that I am feeling. Royal purple for bold and sly, black for depressed, red for flirty, blue/green for- well- that's just my summer color. Right now my nails blend in with my skin, they're that same color. I don't feel anything.

I am numb from the sudden death of student in my school, I am a little upset with my best friend, I am a little excited for the little things in life- everything cancells out leaving me with the numbness my depression brings.

Let me stop there and let's back this up.

I know my writing is depressing. I know my writing isn't always good. But I try. And that's all that matters. This isn't a story about my old love or my mental illnesses. This isn't a story about anything. It's a letter to you. The reader.

Dear you,

I know you're there- I see you. I know that whatever you're going throug sucks. I know it hurts but it'll get better. I promise. You can't hurt yourself, I mean you can- but whenever you hurt yourself you're hurting me. Please don't... Life hurts. Love hurts. At time it seems like everything sucks and the world is completely against you. I know- I've been there. But not everything is against you. I'm still here for you. The sun still rises and sets and look beautiful, the birds still sing, nature is still beautiful. It's okay to hurt and mourn. But promise me that you'll eventually get back up. Promise me that you'll be okay?

It's okay to not be okay.

I could riddle this letter with depressing quotes. I could fill it with stories of my life and struggles. I'm only 15. I've gone through things that some adults ever will and I haven't gone through nearly as much as my friend Juneau. She's gone through hell and back and she's still smiling as if it were her last day on this earth. (I know you're reading this Juneau- stay strong.)

And that's my advice to you. Stay strong. Through the tears and the hurt and the pain. Stay strong.

If you ever need someone to talk to- I am here for you. I may not respond right away but I'll try to respond as soon as I can.

It's okay to hurt. Stay strong. It's okay to not be okay. Stay strong. It's okay to mourn. Stay strong.

Listen to me- hear me- don't just read these words. Know that what I'm saying is directed at you. I don't know what you're going through but stay strong. It'll end eventually. It'll be over soon. It may not seem like there's light at the end of the tunnel but there is. I promise. And I don't making promises I can't keep....

Stay strong. I support you.

-CJ (writergirl02)

As a teenager, I had one love. He made me strong and never left my side. When I went through a tough time, he was there making sure I got out of it.

Freshman year, I was starting out in a new school and he made sure I knew exactly where I was going, and that I would always have a lunch buddy.

Sophmore year, I dealt with depression. He was there to hold my hand and wipe my tears.

But Junior year...

Junior year my sister died, leaving me in pieces. I wanted to end it all. I called him with tears streaming down my face. I told him goodbye. He rushed over to my house and held me the entire night. The only thing I remember him saying is

"You're not allowed to die, okay? Promise me you won't die."

I tried to argue with him, saying I was better off dead and that nobody cared, but he was persistant on making me promise. So I did...

"I promise."

That was 200 years ago today...

I don't know what he did to me, but it worked. I kept my promise.

I have tried. Tried to end it. Tried to find a way out of this "spell" I'm in but I can't find a way. A way to escape life.

I've watched everyone I care about leave me. Escaping this world and leaving me on it. I don't know what to do. My heart longs for my love, but I'm stuck here on this world. Alone.

Every night I pray to God that he will help me break my promise so I can leave this world, but nothing works. I am stuck here. Forever.

Alone.