When I was younger my mom would come to my room, tuck the blankets around me, and settle down on the bed to read me one of Stephen King’s short stories from his “Nightmares and Dreamscapes” collection. Every night I would snuggle closer against my mom, close my eyes, and let her voice and the words on the page take me to another world. Those nights from my childhood led me to fall in love for the first time. Never before had I felt such a strong emotion (I was only seven or eight at the time) take ahold of me—at the time I didn’t know how to express what I now know is passion.

Once I learned how to read on my own I never stopped. I became a voracious reader and my passion intensified as I grew older. Books began to fill every room in our home—piles grew in the kitchen, living room, dining room, along with my parent’s bedroom and, of course, my own. If I were seen without a book accompanying me everyone would know something was wrong.

Books became my other half, and, after everything that happened with my brother, they became a buoy. Books kept me from drowning in grief and hopelessness. They were my lifejacket and my protector. Frankly, I don’t know how else to say it: books saved my life.

These treasures allowed me to navigate through my depression and pain by transporting me to another world. They brought me happiness when I was sad, they made me laugh when I cried, and, most importantly, when I was in my darkest moments, feeling hopeless and lost, they brought me reassurance.

A character from my favorite books series claims, "it was books that made me feel that perhaps I was not completely alone. They could be honest with me, and I with them" - what I myself could never verbally express was finally put into words (Clockwork Prince). Books have been constant companions throughout my life; they gave me friends when I shut myself away, friends who could never lie to me nor I to them. They gave me worlds I could escape to, worlds I could envision myself in when I needed to forget about the one I was living in. And, as I've come to realize while writing this, books have never judged me. If I had an urge to self-harm or if I were feeling worthless, books would beckon me to them and wrap me in an embrace while reminding me that everything would be fine, that I would be fine. And they were right every time.

I don't think there will be a moment in my life where a book isn't by my side, gently encouraging me along the way. Although I have my mom and my friends - who are all wonderful people - it's a nice reassurance to know I will never truly be alone in this world as long as I have my books.