No one knew, only music helped. Now I know what it is like to be saved, not by My Chemical Romance, but by music and other artists. I know what its like to sigh of relief at the end of the day and think that everything will be alright. When I thought the world would end for me, I would listen to music. I wouldn't think, I would just focus on the drums, guitar, and vocals. Not even the lyrics, because sometimes their truth hurt. I would feel calm and that hopelessness that welled inside of me would leave. And even when the lyrics would've hurt me in the past and could've made me cry, they didn't. I don't know how I've managed it, but I guess I am strong. Strong enough to think that maybe those words were speaking for me. Through another person's singing voice, they told me the pain, happiness, sadness, and hope that I would sometimes feel. They were telling my life's story. They told me that I wasn't alone. That they truly meant those words day and night. Their words would soothe me when my thoughts were too much to bear. It was my drug. It is my drug. It was my companion, that told me that I had to cope, to do it for me because I wanted to get better. To do something for myself. To stop the suffering. Its all for me. I'm not doing it for anyone else, just for myself. It helped me make discoveries too. I thought the future was blurry and frustrating, but not anymore. Let life just take me where it has to. Why worry now? I just want to enjoy the present. To smell the spring air and enjoy those few moments of serenity, with music. Writing did not help me. I wrote and wrote about my despair and tragedies, but that did not seem to help. I would read the words in the end, and cry. I could feel the words digging into me. Sometimes I would even feel embarassed for what I felt. It was like I was reading someone else's problems and I felt like that lost girl wasn't me. No matter what she said, no one would care to read the words. That no one cared what she thought. And that was when the tears would start. The feelings of frustration and the dark holes would get wider and bigger. That poor girl, so sweet and young, not seeing the good sides of things. I tried to loose myself in reading, but even there I did not feel safe. It was the desire to have that person's courage to do what they did, that made me feel tha way. The desire to have someone listen. The desire to have those silly dreams and have someone tell me wise words. But I kept reading, I forced myself to because every ending needs to be read. Music was the one to seem to understand. It knew what I was going through. I felt loved and cared for. I did it for myself. I told others what I felt, words though. Not through speaking. And words are foolish over the internet. I would see them, but not feel them. Could not see the expression in their eyes. So how could I know that they meant them? That they cared? How could I know the truth? No, words are foolish. They did not help. It only worsened the situation. To those people, all I could've said was thank you.
I thought that I would never cut myself, that I wouldn't find the need for it. Thank my strength that I still think that way. I don't have to. I don't want to feel the physical pain while I'm dealing with inner pain. I've heard from those who have, that it makes you forget the inner pain and focus on the outer pain. I don't think so. I think that just doubles the pain. More pain and more pain. I could never dare myself to cut. When I did think of the possibility, I had my own velvety voice yell out at me and say, "No!." With that, I would then go on and just deal with the suffering. Because desire comes with suffering. That was why I had so much of it. That is why I was in that situation. My dreams were: to become an author, my dream to meet my favorite band, my dream to once again meet my siblings, and my dream to make something of myself in the future. They aren't dreams, just desires. Time, will show me those things. I would just deaden those desires. My dreams, are they still living? What are they? Am I still living for something? I'm living for tomorrow. That's my dream. I want to breath the night air, to see the faces of those whom I love, and to seek for more music. To write, to draw, and to read while I still can. To do anything possible. To live life, because once I'm dead, there's nothing left. My obsession with music, is love. I'm strong enough, those words will always burn inside of my head. I'm intelligent enough to find things out for myself, to think them out. I'm doing it for me. I'm dealing with my own suffering the only way I can. By doing something of my life and not thinking that it's just slipping through my fingers.