I've been through years of therapy, I know it doesn't always help, I know that everything is too much and there's never someone- or something- that always helps. I know. But I've lived years on the precipice of destruction, and sometimes I've snapped, sometimes I've fallen, and it' miserable, it really is. To spend every moment with the thought that there's nothing worth this, nothing worth continuing to exist, and it's so stifling, you're choking, you can't breathe, there's nothing you can do- I've lived that way for as long as I can remember, avoiding others, spending breaks in stacks of books so obscure no one will find me. I've felt the panic of going to sit down, to eat or to read or so, so many terrible things and feeling bile rise in my throat, rushing to a bathroom because you can't breathe and the walls are closing in and your vision's tunneled and, oh gosh, the world is ringing. I know what it's like to dedicate everything in you that isn't aligned to some prior, more important task to memorizing the safe, hidden spots of every room you enter. I know what it is to realize that maybe the monsters were never under your bed, that maybe the people who say they love you are the ones who want to hurt you the most. I know what it's like to live every moment in fear and feel as though you're drowning when the fear is gone because how else will you stay alive, how else can you avoid the hurt? I know what it is to have to wear sweaters all year round, not because of the scars on your arms, no, you know better than that, no one will ever find those cuts, but because to show yourself is to feel exposed- and to feel exposed is the first step on the path to madness and overwhelming panic. I know what it is to suffer, to starve, to enjoy the release the sting of a silver blade or scorching flame will bring, to feel nothing, to stop worrying because really it the other you's problem, the you that has to deal with all the because you feel too much and that's going to stop.

And so, consequently, I know it never quite means anything when someone says sorry, or that they understand, or any of those other horribly pithy phrases. But I am sorry, so sorry, that you've hurt enough to seek something new and something open. And because of all the horror I've seen, and felt, and lived, I know that sometimes someone who sees that things are not right, someone who can cry with you and hurt for you is enough. Because things may never get better, and that's not okay, but it's the way it is. Because sometimes you just need release, and that's more than okay, and I would like to use what I've been through to help you, because what is pain if not something to rise above?

Full disclosure, I won't be online all the time, but when I am, just reach out. And when I'm not, leave me a message, and I'll come running, I'll take your hand. Sometimes you need a reason to believe, to try, to feel that things might be okay- not good, maybe never good, but okay. You can show me your scars and your dark spots, your sorrows and the scary, scared, parts of you- and I promise I'll never turn away. I'll help cloak your fears and cradle your desolation to the best of my ability.

If all I ever accomplished in life was to give you a good moment, I would trade a million successes for the chance.

Calliope