The past two months I’ve started doing things I never thought I'd do. I reached back and grabbed every feeling from my past and brought it to the light for everyone to view. I’ve started to show everyone what my soul looks like bare. Not covered by the cloak I used to hide it under, ashamed that the darkness would cause bystanders to judge and stare. People from all parts of my life have reached out to show me that they care. They say my words touch their heart. But their words touch mine. All I'm doing is writing stories about a point in my life when I was far from fine.
Let me paint you a picture of a scenario just a week ago. After receiving only loving praise from my friends, I finally received a message from a foe. Her I don’t know, but she doesn’t like the way my words flow. She says I'm writing about thoughts I don't know. She says I'm pushing people down who are already at their lowest low. She says my stories bring back feelings that trigger. She assumes I’m only writing to make the money in my bank account bigger. She says I’m only sharing to strengthen my social figure. She says I’m promoting self-harm and suicide. That I’m making it seem like the only option for a depressed body is soaking in formaldehyde. That I’m putting on a persona while the real me hides. The message says if I need more reasons to stop writing she’s got a long list. She says I'll never reach my dreams so why do I even bother doing this?
I’m sitting alone reading this message packed with hate. As of late, I've gotten used to comments with only good vibes. Now a stranger’s telling me I'm hiding the real me behind a disguise. I can tell her goal is to shoot me down, but her shots all miss. I’m not writing to push people down, I'm writing to assist. If you want to know why I’m really doing this, keep reading as I make a quick list.
I’m not doing this just for the money, but the checks are motivation. I’m not doing this just for the attention, but I don’t mind the recognition. What cuts my heart the deepest, is to be thought of as someone who's targeting humans at their weakest. When in reality, all I'm trying to do is share what I know their feelings are, when they’re lost and speechless.
I'm doing this for all those people who feel they can’t escape. For those with anxiety making them live afraid. For those with depression making them feel like their life is a disgrace. For those in a dark spot who just want to feel an embrace. I’m doing this for all those people who have felt pain deep. For those who are right on the edge of life and are tempted to leap. For those who are hurting but don’t make a peep. For those who have voices screaming each night they try to sleep.
I’m doing this for all of those people who have reached out and told me their story. To my former teammate; who pretended to be fine for an entire year, when she felt like she was living in purgatory. To my brother; who wrote an entire list of songs, each with a painful allegory. To my grandmother; who shared how all the loss in her life led to moments of melancholy. To the stranger; who reached out describing depression felt after the day she was raped in her own dormitory.
I’m doing this for the people who’ve said I've touched their heart. For the friends that have texted even though we’ve drifted apart. For my family who has been there since my very start. I’m doing this for myself and what I used to be. For the parts I used to never let anyone see. For the joy of writing that sets my soul free. For the version of myself in the past that had a heart hardened like a cast. For the version that didn’t want life to last. For the version that only smiled when she wore a mask.
I’ve been given a gift that I want to share with millions. For my words to stretch across the nation to fill up pavilions. I’m doing this only out of my hearts’ deepest love. I’m doing this to share something I was given from my God up above.