As I got out of my car and walked into this toxic place we called “school,” I held back tears. Opening up those front doors was like opening up a wound that a mere small band-aid couldn’t fix.

But I was too naive and too lost to know that there was a wound. How could I know, of course?

I walked into “school”, even though at times it felt more like a building filled with people who would tear others down. These people were… persistent… and never gave up on hurting others.

“What will he say? What will she say? Ugh she’s going to be so mean today. I can’t handle it. I don’t want to be here but I love it… I think,” I thought as I walked up the stairs to see lockers, crowded with peers.

Before I knew it, tears were streaming down my cheeks. Anxiety and much more had overtaken me, again. My teachers tried to help me and they did. But nothing could’ve helped me permanently; it was all temporary. My sweet teachers loved me dearly but when I went back into the classroom, I could feel the stares.

“Why do you cry every day?” he said with a disgusted look on his face.

“What’s wrong,” they would all say.

I tried to cover it up and say, “I’m fine” or “nothing” or “oh just stress.” But there reaches a time when words can’t cover a tear stained face.

One of the worst parts of the day came… lunch. Some might enjoy this time to be social and laugh, but I didn’t. I sat silently and ate my lunch.

I didn’t talk much, for a few weeks. I didn’t know what to say. I sat at my table, thinking. I thought about what the next year would bring and how I would never be able to get this day back. There was too much pain going on for words to be formed.

I pushed through each and every one of my days. Every day I was shocked how I got through that day and I didn’t know how I was going to make it through the next.

I came home to a house that had never been more clean. A house that was ready for potential house owners to come and look at it any minute. It felt weird. It just felt different…

My bedroom was all packed up and my bed was gone. My dresser was gone. My vanity was gone. My nightstand was gone. It became empty. The room that had so much light and joy became a dark and empty place.

That night I slept on a mattress, in the guest bedroom. I wrapped my blue fuzzy blanket around me, so that I had something to touch. It made me feel like I was safe and I was in my old room. In my hand, there was a letter. This letter was one of my most prized possessions. Maybe, I brought it to this unfamiliar room for familiarity. Maybe, I brought it to read. But mostly, I brought it to remember and never forget. I held on to this letter tightly, because I wanted to feel like a piece of the writer was with me. I never wanted to let go.

This letter, a piece of paper, made me feel emotions words could not describe.

I cried. I missed my old room even though it was down the hall. I already felt like everything I knew and love was slipping away, this didn’t help.

Anxiety and emotions were racing through my mind at what seemed like 100 MPH. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop the tears. I couldn’t stop what was going to happen. I couldn’t stop losing at life. I had no control.

Countless nights were spent worrying about the future and crying about the past.

All I knew was that I would wake up in the morning… and repeat that whole day again.

Over and over and over…