When the purest soul is stained by skin, to the public eye, where can she begin? What was I supposed to do other than dread the world I was brought into?

These men didn’t hurt me in the way men can really hurt women, but they killed the desire for life; the excitement to be and to grow, to trust and to love.

I felt like I was 16 again and plummeting beyond rock-bottom (a place I refer to as Actual Rock Bottom —ARM if you feel like it).

I’m a teen going through some tough shit in my head. I recently just figured out that I have OC”

It was the summer of '97 and boy, did I love him. I never saw him again after that night, but, oh, what I'd give to feel his skin on mine again. I'd go back, not to change anything, but to cherish it.

I still don't know if I was willingly vulnerable with this person who stalked and harassed me for years. Someone must have broken my confidence at some point — but was my stalker a wolf in the weeds who heard secondhand or were they a former friend?

And then, the airport turned into a place of sadness. You walked away, and we fruitlessly tried to stay alive, but technology can only get you so far.

Death? Maybe. I don’t know. If death is the finish line of life’s marathon, then why do we even try? Maybe I am just a very pessimistic person.

It’s six months later and I’m still exhausted. I’m tired of applying and I’m tired of getting my hopes up. I’m tired of saying no to things because I can’t afford it and I’m tired of worrying about how I will pay rent.

I'm amazed at the Bible teaching to 'weep with those who weep, rejoice with those who rejoice.' Ultimately, it's what every psychology session has ever taught me. You are allowed to have your feelings.

Time, while it seems so definite in each moment, gives us chance after chance to continuously grow into the incredible beings that each of us are meant to be.

This is me trying to fight my depression. And this is me failing at fighting my depression. I wake up and I wish I had not.

You must believe yourself. / You must find balance: / Push yourself, but / Give yourself a break too.

The smallest things remind me of him. The way my friend turns pages in his history book; the thick, black-banded watches always worn on the left wrist.

I want to move closer to: integrity, genuine passion, new knowledge, more meditation, ethical possessions, calling family more, fresh flowers, routine, and worthy investments.

Why don’t you let me rest? / Lay me down to sleep / Pray rosaries for my purgatory / Burn my flesh until I’m nothing, but dust / Wear black to the land of the dead / Bury me six feet under and kiss the dirt

Your arms felt like hotel pools / so cozy, yet so unfamiliar. / We were just a young couple of fools / so rosy, yet so unpredictable.

I am almost always a loving person, but I am filled with hate towards you. I know that you do not feel remorse for what you did.

Aren't we just so healthy, keeping this knot tied as tight as we can pull, deep in our stomach and lost in our soul?

I’m always thinking about that scene in Melancholia, where Kirsten Dunst’s character is completely unbothered by the fact that a foreign planet was going to collide with Earth at any moment.

I, almost a year later, am seeking help from a psychologist to process what happened to me. I hope my story resonates with someone, or a few someones, and you know you're not alone anymore.

I was trapped in a box; I could only get so far away from him, since he was family. He told me it was natural, that I should be thankful he was teaching me “the ways of adults.”

My body wasn't mine anymore and neither were my thoughts.

Letting go isn't easy, nor is it painless, but it could do you a world of good.