Emma,

Your latest article, "Spilling My Guts," stopped me in my tracks. Your words brought me to tears. Very real tears - full of regret and anger and, somehow, the slightest sliver of hope. I knew you in middle and high school. I knew you when all of this had begun, when these experiences came crashing down on you. But I did not know your struggle.

When I look back at our uniform-wearing-days, I remember you as I still see you, now. Always so pretty and kind. I remember someone who would say hello whenever they saw me and seemed to constantly be smiling. You were always so alive.

We had been pretty good friends during middle school. High school caused us to drift apart, as it does with so many people. Nothing planned, but you fell into one circle of friends and I fell into another. I knew you faced seizures, medication issues, and epilepsy. I knew it caused you to be hospitalized and that you fought it every day. What I did not know, was just how deeply this ran. How much pain reading about your struggle would cause me.

I regret not pushing past my own walls, own reservations, to come see you. To let you know that I was aware of your struggle, even remotely, and that you were in my thoughts. I did not want to be "that girl." The one who suddenly showed up at your side because something had happened and who wanted to be seen caring. I did not want to show up and make you feel worse by looking concerned and above all else I did not want you to ever mistake my care for curiosity nor pity.

I did what I was comfortable with. What I thought would be best. I took a step back and gave you space.

Looking back, now, I see that while my decision was not an inappropriate one, I could have made a better choice. I could have shown my support. I could have tried harder. I know others visited you or kept in touch but we were a small class. We needed to support and care for one another more than we sometimes did, as a whole.

One of my best friends has epilepsy. He worries me all the time, even though I do not always express this to him. He's a big guy. Someone I'm not entirely sure I could help in the case his epilepsy decided to rear its ugly head. I'm not even sure what I would do.

Your article brought me to tears. Tears of personal regret. Tears of fear. Tears of pride. Tears of hope, even. We do not talk very often. If we do, it is usually through some form of social media or promoting each other's Odyssey articles. I know I was never a best friend, never entitled to know details of events such as those you wrote of, but thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for finding the confidence, strength, and peace needed to share this with all of us.

You are a shining example of someone who has every reason to be afraid, to hide, yet stares fear in the face and presses forward.

Thank you.

Thank you for reminding us that every single human on this planet has a story. Thank you for sharing a page of yours with us.