I'm sorry for what you are going through. I am sorry I cannot say anything to make it go away because it will be years before that even begins to be a possibility. I am sorry you are in pain. I am sorry that even if now, I promise you, with absolute certainty, it will get better, you will not believe me. I'm sorry you have to deal with this.
I guess I could tell you it will all get so much better, that a light will turn on and the dark cloud will leave and you will have life. I suppose I could make those promises knowing now that it will come true. But in your state, all I can tell you is to wait.
Wait through the dark years, the fog, the confusion. Everyone says high school is the worst, that turning 13 is just a death sentence for your emotions. I don't know what to say other than I believe you. And please, for both of us, just hang on a little longer.
When the nights get dark and scary, remember you have a family and a community behind you. Define yourself by your strengths, your creativity, your writing. Prove to the doctors and the world that your life matters. That despite everything, you are still breathing. You are still waking up every morning and pushing through another day when all you can see is gray and black, depression and fear.
Write stories about characters who have lives so different from your own. Write about 20 something party girls, and middle aged undercover international spies, and hotel clerks with a thirst for blood. Then, when your demons want to visit, remind them you also can create friends. You have worlds outside your own. At least your mind, as troubled and messed up as it is, it is vast and imaginative and capable.
Look forward to the little things. The Archie comics that come every month, with bright colors and funny stories about a picture perfect high school you can pretend is real. The next episode of How I Met Your Mother. A craft project you see online. These are the things that can keep you going, keep you hanging on as you feel the ground beneath you slipping away.
Cuddle with your mom. Explain to her the plots of your favorite shows with slurred speech and shaking hands. Tell her you are grateful she still believes in you. Understand how lucky you are to have a family that believes in your potential and not just your broken parts. Fall asleep on her lap. Promise her this is not her fault. Thank her in advance for saving you.
Hug your dad. Squeeze him as tight as your angry, built up pain will allow. Even as you grow weaker, your limbs sliding and tears falling, hold onto him. He is your anchor in the storm. Realize the sacrifices he makes every single minute of every single day just to keep you alive and believing in yourself. Trust that he will protect you to the ends of the earth.
Tell your sister she is brave. Tell her how grateful you are. Thinking it is not enough. You have to tell her, or write a letter, or something. She did not sign up for this but she is all too willing to play a part in your protection. She will grow up in the dark shadow of her big sister, but she will become her own woman. Tell her you are proud. Tell her she is stronger than you ever thought an elementary school student could be. Apologize for hurting her. Thank her for being your better half, your partner in crime, when everything has failed and you want to give up. Tell her you are going to be okay.
Go to sleep with tears in your eyes, but know those eyes will open to a new day. Things will change. You will make it. You are here, and I am telling you now, you will make it.
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