There's a little saying that says "Write drunk; edit sober." That is what I am going to do figuratively.

To tell you the truth, I am always writing some sort of story in my head. I guess this one just happens to be mine. I have never really shared everything that goes on or has happened in my life. I think I'm just looking for that one person who can understand even the dustiest corners of my mixed-up soul.

When you think about it, we all have stories we will never tell. Sure, we don't know a person until we ask questions, but even then we only get part truth or fake answers. Sometimes you just can't tell anybody how you really feel. Not because you don't know why. Not because you don't trust them, but because you can't find the right words to make them understand.

I think about things... a lot. Probably more than I should and when I write this, yeah, I'm sad. At the same time, I'm happy that something can make me feel this sad. It's like it makes me feel alive, you know? It makes me feel human. The only way I can feel this sad now is if I felt something good before. I guess what I'm feeling is like a beautiful sadness.

It doesn't hurt anymore. I’ve learned to deal with the insecurities the monsters in my head create. They go away sometimes, but then reality slaps me in the face and I realize I still have all the issues of my past. Strangers only know a part of me because I like to think of myself as a universe full of secrets. Actually, no one knows me. Well, the real me at least. Nobody knows how many times I've cried in my room alone or how many times I've lost hope or when I've been let down. Nobody knows how many times I've felt like I'm about to snap, but I don't for the sake of everyone around me. Nobody knows the thoughts that go through my head when I'm sad, how horrible they truly are sometimes. And here I am actually letting a real, breathing, human being in.

When I was little, I used to believe in heroes. Maybe I was hoping for something other than myself to carry me out of this nightmare we call life. You can wish and hope, but in the end it all leads to the same exact thing: you being helpless and alone, hoping for something that won't ever happen. Heroes don't exist and sometimes you have to be your own.

To let you in, I’m a paradox. I want to be happy, but I think of things that make me sad. I'm lazy, yet I want to go explore the world. I don't like myself, but I also love who I am. I say I don't care, but I really do. I also notice everything. I literally mean everything. I notice when someone stops hitting me up like they used to. I notice when the way someone talks to me starts changing. I notice the little things that people do, and the little things they used to do. I notice when things change, and when it's no longer the same. I notice every single little detail. I just don't say anything.

Now people have always found me to be the quiet, shy one and that's how I am. Sometimes when I'm with my friends, I'll be the one to just sit there. I even have the nickname "Mouse" . I'm still learning to open up. I'm getting better at it, but it's in small steps.

But you see, I guess, I just like listening, you know? Because a lot of people don't have someone they can tell things to. I know sometimes I don't, so that's why I like letting people know they have me. It sucks needing to bottle things inside, but it sucks even more thinking that when you tell someone something, they'll just sit there and judge you because they don’t know what it’s like. Sometimes you feel like you're drowning and watching everyone around you breathe. You wear a mask for so long, you forget who you are beneath it. You don’t know who you are until you finally lose that person. Sometimes when that happens, you search so hard, you lose yourself all over again. It’s as if we have to lie to ourselves in order to be happy. Who knows what keeps us living and struggling while all things break around us.

I've been trying my hardest to just hide all of my past. I used to put on this mask of being happy only to go home sometimes and cry myself to sleep at night. I have had breakdowns quite a bit. The worst type of crying is the silent one. The one when everyone is asleep, you feel it in your throat, and your eyes become blurry from the tears. The one where you just want to scream, but you hold your breath and grab your stomach to keep quiet. The one where you can't breathe anymore. You know why it's so hard to be happy, though? We refuse to let go of things that make us sad.

Within the past few years, I was hurt a lot. I had a lot of confusion taking place. My thoughts were always fighting against me. I absolutely hated when people would say, “Oh, you don’t look depressed”. I’m sorry that I forgot to bring my literal cloud of darkness with me.

To tell you the truth, I have this depression side-effect going on inside my head. I have finally learned to deal with it, though. I know my limits and I know how to help people without it taking a toll on my mental health. I used to put others before myself, but I have realized that maybe it’s time to start taking care of me. I’ve never accepted that dark side of me. I like feeling alive and real, not down and miserable questioning the meaning of life. Sometimes I wish I could fast forward to the end to see if it's worth it. All I really want to do is spend my life travelling, reading books, drinking all kinds of coffee, and occasionally write something. I mean, is that too much to ask for?

I'll let you in on a secret. I love unmade beds. I love when people are drunk and crying and can't be anything but honest. I love the look in peoples' eyes when they realize they're in love. I love the way people look when they first wake up and they've forgotten where they are. I love when people are wandering around and taking in the sites. I love when someone talks about something they love and their eyes glow. I love seeing people in their honest moments. It's that moment when there's nothing to hide.

You know, maybe things don't happen for a reason. Maybe we're just grasping for ways to make sense of the chaos around us. Maybe we're giving meaning to things that have no meaning. Maybe we're clinging to hope so hard that we forget about reality. What if we're wrong and nothing is meant to be? We're just lost souls wandering endlessly, desperately seeking comfort from the thought that things will work out in the end. What if we've tricked ourselves into believing that everything will be okay just so we don't have to face the reality that maybe it won’t?

I lied when I said it didn't hurt. Most people spend their whole lives in the grey: in all the “what ifs” and “maybes”. I don’t want to do that anymore. I’ll admit that I’ve thought about dying, but I’m not ready to die, not even close. In fact, my problem is the complete opposite now. I want to live and escape. I feel trapped and claustrophobic. There’s so much to see and so much to do, but I somehow find myself doing nothing at all. I’m wasting every second. Even now as I’m writing this, it’s wasted time that I should be out there… living. You should be out there, too.

So as you think about all of this, will you promise me one thing? You will look at yourself and say, “I am important. I will make a change. I won’t let little things get the best of me and I will become who I want to be”. Do not let the monsters inside of your head steal everything about you. I have your back if you have mine.

Two Last Notes to Always Remember:

1. Life is designed to kick your butt.

2. Life is so much more than just taking breaths to stay.