At least once a day, I see my own face in the mirror. Whether it be a glint of it on the blacked-out screen of my smartphone, or in the camera where I pose for a selfie with my friends. Sometimes, I go searching for a mirror - pretending I need to use the toilet when all I really need to use is the mirror.

But all those times, I see myself looking for imperfections. A wisp of hair in the wrong place. Wrinkles on the corners of my eyes. Smeared eyeliner outlining my dark circles. I smooth out my hair and apply eye cream to the end of my eyes. I wipe away the excess makeup, dab on some foundation to cover my dark circles, and sigh. I look for what others would see when they look at me and try to make it so that they only see what I want them to see.

Today, I'm looking at not what others can see but what I can see. That rebellious lock of hair I inherited from my mother reminds me that I am part of a loving family. My crow’s feet show a spirit in me that loves to laugh. The subtle makeup contrasted with the not quite covered dark circles from laboring over my report last night tells that not only do I want to look my best, but I want to be the best I can be. Today, I look into the mirror and see not what is to be fixed, but why it is a part of who I am.

I smooth my hair, fix my makeup and smile, realizing something I forgot for a long time.

I love the way I look.

I know that you will get a kick out of this,

But I’m knotting a net to catch me some fish

It’ll be just like yours – kisses will bait them in deep

Sweet whispers of nothing to knock them off their feet

But I learned when I fled from your little keep

To knit mine more tightly, to keep it discreet

“It hurts. It hurts so bad,” I sob. “No one told me it would hurt this bad. Make it stop.”

Ignoring the wet mess the front of her shirt was becoming, she puts her arms around me and gently squeezes. “Oh baby, of course it hurts. Your heart is breaking.”

And it was. I could feel the shards of my heart stabbing the tender walls of my bosom as it broke. I desperately look to her warm brown eyes. “How... how do you make it stop? Make it stop please. Make it stop.”

“It will stop. It will stop, but I can’t stop it for you. Only time can do that.”

I feel myself trembling against her firm arms. “When? How long will it take? When will I be able to forget him?”

She is silent for a moment.

“You’ll think of him today. You’ll think of him tomorrow. Days will go by with you trying not to think of him. After a while, you’ll get on with your life; you’ll drink your coffee like always and you’ll hang out with your friends. You’ll be able to smile and laugh, but he’ll always be there. It could be months until that day comes when you suddenly find yourself thinking of him out of the blue. And you’ll realize you hadn’t been thinking of him until then. Things will get better from then on, and thinking of him won’t hurt as much as it did before. That’s how you’ll realize you’re getting better. But you won’t forget him. You’ll go to the places you went together, and he’ll be there. When that comes as a comfort and you can think of him fondly, that’s when you know you’ll be fine.”

She smiles sadly. “A heart doesn’t break easily, baby. But it happens to all of us.”

I don't know you. And you're probably right in that I won't completely understand the pain that socked you in the heart. But if you're reading this, I'm willing to bet that you want to live... Just not the way you're living right now. But hey, imagine yourself 5 years from now. Or even two. Hell, imagine yourself 6 months from now. The people you know will be different, the feelings you have will change. You might find your soulmate, you might find a song that makes your soul quiver in happiness, or you might find someone that understands. They say that there's a set amount of tears a person spills in their lives. If you've cried your eyes dry on this phase of life, your future will be much happier. I can't talk you out of suicide, only you can do that. All I can do is tell you that if you want someone to help you talk yourself out of suicide, I'm be there with some cocoa, a warm hug, and an open ear.

He held out a small bouquet of flowers and said,

"Roses are red

Violets are blue

There are still other flowers

For me to give to you."

She smiled and thought,

"Roses are Red

Violets are Blue

I’m allergic to flowers

But... I can deal with a few."

She was a ruthless beauty:

Her perfect lips a rosebud, her crown adorned with thorns.

All of Wonderland was hers. 

But not a single heart wept when she passed away.

It's the simple standard answer, but it took me some time to be able to say this. Typical answers like 'okay', 'fine' didn't belong to me. Most times, I'd be far from okay, I'd be a 'no' or a 'terrible'. Defining myself was like trying to untangle my favorite pair of earphones. The more I used them, the more often it'd get tangled. The songs I listened to with these earphones spouted nonsense like 'it's okay not to be okay'. Lies. It's never okay to not be okay. You should never be fine with the feelings that steal precious moments of your life, that leave you wrecked and disfigured. Get help, whether it's from friends, family, art, books, or even the internet. The dark times of my life were spent with me isolating the world and trying to solve everything by myself. But it doesn't work that way. The only reason I can say I'm doing fine now and start paying attention to the others around me is because someone was there asking me if I was okay. So thank you. I'm doing okay now. How about you? Are you okay?