Alone. Thoughts running through my head. Sprinting, actually. They never seem to stop. Every day it’s the same thing. I can’t be left alone.

I shove open the door and feel the sharp sting of the cold wind hit my face. I watch all the other students run out of the building, so full of joy since it’s Friday and there’s two full days of freedom ahead of us. That’s how it should be for me too, right? Every day I wonder what it’s like to feel so “normal” like that. 

I get in my car and race to get in line to get out of the parking lot so I don’t end up sitting here for a half hour. Alone again. 

“Hello,” my thoughts say to me. I want them to go away. I want to be left alone. I want what is the impossible. I think about my plans for the night. Go home, eat, and do nothing. I wonder how many other people my age are planning to spend their Friday night the same way I am. I watch all the kids running to their cars with their friends, ready to go out and not return home until much later. 

I open my phone to check for any texts from my so called friends. Nothing. The light finally turned green and I sped off, trying to get out of there as soon as I could so I don’t have to wallow in my sadness more than I already have to. 

I pull into my driveway and turn off the engine of my car. I don’t leave yet. I wonder why I am the way that I am. Why was I created like this. Stupid chemical imbalances. 

I open the car door and feel the sharp, cold wind once again. The warmth of the air from my car suddenly gone. It reminds me of how I feel when I actually have small moments of joy and feel good inside before they swiftly get taken away from me and I return to my usual alone and sad self. 

Walking inside my own house feels unusual. The walls never feel welcoming and nothing is ever just right. I slip off my boots and winter coat as I make my way into the kitchen. There’s a note sitting on the counter reminding me that my mom went to go pick my my little sister, Carly. I was hoping they would be home by now so that the sounds of other people being around would help to consume my brain and overcome my thoughts. 

Something nudged the back of my leg. I was startled and slightly frightened until I realized it was just my dog. I sat down on the ground next to her, hoping she could help comfort me at least a little bit. She’s always good to have around at times like this, until something new and exciting to her pulls her away from me. She sits with me for a moment before she runs off, suddenly overcome with excitement about greeting new people. 

The sounds of my mom and Carly coming through the door brought a new feel to the house. It suddenly didn’t feel empty and alone, it became filled with life and an upbeat sort of energy. 

“Hey,” I said to them with a fake smile plastered on my face as they walked in the kitchen. 

“Hey, how was your day, honey?” My mom asked. 

“It was good,” I lied. She didn’t know anything about how I felt every single day and how terrible my days actually were. It was always just easier to fake it rather than to try to explain it all at her again, only to be told that it’s “just a phase”.

Carly already ran upstairs to hide away and play X-Box, leaving me alone with my mom. I walked over to the fridge to look at everything I knew I wouldn’t end up choosing. 

“Any plans for tonight?” she asked.

“I was thinking about maybe going to the basketball game, but I’m not sure who I would go with. People might not even go but I haven’t heard much.” I lied. 

“You should go! I think it would be good for you to get out of the house.”

“I don’t know I don’t really feel up to it. I’ll probably just end up staying here and having the night to myself.”

“Liv, are you ok? Every time I talk to you it just seems like you’re not.”

“I don’t know. I feel fine.”

“Well maybe you should go out tonight. It might make you feel better.”

“I really don’t think that just going out on one Friday night will change me, Mom. This isn’t just a momentary thing. You don’t understand or even really notice that I go day-to-day feeling so lost and lonely. One Friday night can’t cure me of whatever this is. I always just tell you I’m fine and you seem to believe it and I don’t go further in depth because I don’t want to keep wasting my time telling you about it all over and over again for you to keep telling me it’s “just a phase”. You want to know the truth about being the one who is always okay? In all honesty, it doesn’t feel good. In actuality, it feels like red cheeks, the kind you can feel from the inside out. The kind that splay across your face when you’re trying to keep everything you wish you could say clenched between your teeth. It feels like bitten nails and the kind of lumps that live in your throat and make it hard to swallow. It feels like going to the bathroom too many times just to compose yourself, just to put your wrists under cold water to ease the anxiety that comes with feeling loneliness wash over you in a crowded room. It feels like playing charades. Like you’re playing a part you never wanted in the first place. It feels like memorized lines, and knowing when to smile whenever someone looks at you as to ensure they don’t catch on. It feels like playing a game you have mastered,” I said this in all honesty as I watched the confused emotions run across my moms face. I didn’t even know where all of this was coming from. When I realized that she wasn’t replying, I continued on, “It feels like never being able to ask for help, because you’re usually the person who fixes everything for everyone else. It feels like having no one to talk to, no one to turn to, because those around you just assume that you’re fine, that you can handle whatever life throws at you. It feels like heartache. The kind that gets deep into your bones. The kind that can only come from feeling misunderstood, from feeling like your worth comes from being the strong one, the one no one ever worries about, and that hurts. That hurts in the rawest, deepest way, because no one notices just how lost you are. No one notices just how quiet you are. No one can hear your pounding heart. And the worst thing of all, is that no one really cares to notice. No one really cares to ask. No one really goes out of their way to take care of you for once, because you are the girl who is always okay. Who is always laughing, smiling, and joking around. You are the girl who is always “fine” and to them, you always will be.”

She stared at me, watching the tears slowly roll down my face until they dripped off my chin. She was silent for a minute, then for two, and finally three. It looked like she was about to say something when she turned around to grab a tissue box. we sat there at the counter in the kitchen with no sound other than my occasional sniffles. You could honestly probably hear a pin drop. 

She leaned over and hugged me. It was one of those hugs where it’s almost an attempt to pull all of your broken pieces together. Like the other person can actually see you crumbling to pieces and just wants to put you back together. I realized that she couldn’t say anything in reply to my long spiel because she couldn’t put together what she felt with words. When we finally pulled apart, she spoke.

“I had no idea. I sometimes noticed things with you were off but I always assumed you just had a bad day.”

“But I’ve told you about all this before! You always tell me I’m fine and nothing is wrong with me and that I’ll get over it but it’s been 3 years and nothing’s changed!”

“Let me finish, please. Obviously I don’t know how to help you since I’ve never gone through this and I’m not a doctor or anything, but I do have some words that might help you. You are okay. In your imperfections, in your flaws, in all that ways you maybe fall short or feel sub par. You are doing just fine. You have to feel okay. You have to be healed. You will achieve something someday that might seem impossible right now. You have to live for that day where everything is okay. You have to envision it and fight your way to that day. You have to experience all the joys that life will bring you. You still have to make it to that day where you’ll be old and reminiscing on your life, and you’ll realize you made it. When you’re older and looking back on all of the incredible things you were able to experience, you will be glad you never gave up. You will be glad you kept fighting.”

I grabbed another tissue to try to wipe away the tears on my face that went from a slow roll to a river. I knew everything right now wasn’t okay, and it all wouldn’t be for a while. I had to believe in what my mom said. How someday I’ll be able to look back and say that I made it and to know that I’ve fought to be there. But for now, I will have to find comfort in her words and the hugs that really are an attempt to hold me together. 

We sat in the silence again. It was a comforting silence. One where you know the other person fully understands you and you fully understand them. Where words can’t come close to explaining the feeling that’s in the air. I felt like someone was finally there.

“Well, thank you for listening and for your words of wisdom. I’m going to head upstairs and just unwind for a bit.”

“Okay. Do you want anything to eat first?” She asked.

“No, I’m good for right now,” I replied with a fake half smile. I gathered my things and started to walk down the hall and up the stairs. As I was walking, I thought about everything. How I knew I needed to fight for the day I could finally say I’m okay, but how my mom didn’t even really offer much help other than her words like that. I knew nothing would change and all of this would just happen again in another few months. 

I tossed my backpack on my bed and I flopped down on my back next to it. I could hear something in my head repeating over and over until it became literate.

“Hello again,” my thoughts said.