Party girls don't get hurt, can't feel anything--when will I learn? I push it down, push it down.

Sia's Chandelier is a jam. There's no denying that. The song came out in 2014 as the first single of 1,000 Forms of Fear and rose to the top of the charts fairly quickly. Most of us remember the radio playing it way too much, so we got tired of it after a while. Maybe we forgot about it. After all, 2014 was three years ago.

I'm not sure how many of us took the song for what it was, or if we took it for granted. I certainly did the latter. I didn't understand the depth of the song, and so I just jammed out to it until I got tired of it. And then, I stopped listening.

In 2015, when Jordan Smith sang Chandelier for his Voice audition, my parents discovered the song for the first time. My mother instantly loved it, and I didn't really know why. I figured it wasn't her type of song--she's a George Strait fan and spends her time somewhere between Christian music and old country. She wouldn't stop listening to Jordan's version of the song, and she would get very emotional when she listened to it. One day, I asked her why.

"Chrissy," she explained, "have you listened to the words of that song?"

Well...no, to be honest, I hadn't. I hadn't thought much of it. I just remembered the weird music video with Dance Moms' Maddie Ziegler.

"Go listen to it," she said, "and really hear the lyrics. Then, you'll understand."

So, I did what she said. What I found in the midst of the song, when I really listened, was heartbreak.

1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3, drink. Throw 'em back 'till I lose count.

In Chandelier, I found the anthem of a broken soul. Someone who felt completely unloved, shattered, and useless. Someone whose entire identity was found in a drunken night of empty fun, because their identity was wholly consumed by running away from who they really were.

I used to judge that person, that broken soul. I used to swear that I'd never be like them. But now, I am one of them.

I recently lost my boyfriend and my best friend within a few months. I discovered my boyfriend was cheating on me; rather than coming clean when I confronted him, he lied about his actions and refused to have an honest discussion with me. Three months later, I had a huge falling out with my friend, where she became verbally abusive and would argue with everything I said. Any time I expressed myself or shared a frustration, she shut me down, explained all the ways I was wrong, and then expected an apology from me--as if merely expressing my opinions was so offensive to her that she needed to affront it instantly. It's been a tough summer. But I've learned, like Sia said, to push it down.

When I reached out to my ex for the first and only time about a month after we broke up, and I asked him to meet up so I could have a face-to-face explanation, he essentially told me that he didn't have time for me. A few days after, he texted me out of the blue just to tell me to leave him alone forever. I was so hurt by his behavior, I went to the nearest alcohol store and bought a bottle of wine. I came home, handed my keys and my phone to my mom, retreated into my room and got drunk off my ass.

Drinking doesn't solve your problems, but it presses the mute button. And sometimes, you know, that's kind of nice. Because then, you start swinging from the chandelier, and you live like tomorrow doesn't exist. I haven't gotten drunk since, though. I realized that the numbness drinking provided only amplified my pain when I had to wake up.

Sun's up, I'm a mess...

There's a part of you that's going insane the entire time. That's why Sia says, won't look down, won't open my eyes. Keep my glass full until morning light, 'cuz I'm just holding on for tonight. We all know it's an unsafe place to be--filled to the brim with alcohol and surrounded by pithy denial. But it feels so much better than when the sun comes up, and you're a mess.

Gotta get out now, gotta run from this. Here comes the shame.

It becomes a cycle after a while.

When the words begin to haunt me, I have to fight the desire to just count to three and drink--because I know it's going to hurt me more than it's going to save me, and waking up with an emotional, mental and physical hangover brings so many different forms of pain.

Leave me alone forever.

You want me to reject you. You want the world to be against you.

You hurt me so much more than I ever hurt you.

I'm not verbally abusive! It's called arguing.

You're disregarding my hurt. I thought I mattered more to you.

You're the one ending this friendship, not me.

And then, when there are nightmares, and I wake up in a cold sweat with the image of him on top of another girl imprinted in my head, or when I feel the inevitable fog of distrust smothering me as I realize I will never again be able to let someone in, I will never again be able to give anyone any part of me--when I realize that they will always, always, leverage it against me...

When I realize that two of the people I loved and trusted most in the world at the beginning of this year are now on my blocked list, because their texts were so cruel and hurtful I had to block them out just to protect my sanity...

Help me, I'm holding on for dear life...

Won't look down, won't open my eyes...

Chandelier is grossly underrated because it expresses a plight that we've all felt before, or will feel one day: complete and utter brokenness. Broken to the point where you can't fight anymore. Broken to the point where you retreat inward, because you can't reach out anymore--because you flinch when anyone tries to touch you, because you're afraid of being stabbed in the back.

Because there are so many scars on my damn back.

Feel my tears as they dry.

Thank you, Sia, for being the only person who actually understands.