I wasn't exactly suicidal, but I stopped looking both ways before I crossed the street.

I wasn't trying to end my life, but pills suddenly started going down my throat like tic tacs, no water necessary.

I didn't want the lights to never come back on, but I found myself thinking about how peaceful candles are, especially when the flame is extinguished and all that's left is a smoky trail.

I finally got some help.

I told my psychiatrist that I find religion to be such a robust and monstrous thing sometimes, because even though I don't particularly believe in anything, I feel a set of eyes on me all the time, judging me for how i've sinned differently than others, and could tell someone- but they knew. The eyes always knew.

I told my psychiatrist that I don't think it's the fact that people leave that hurts, it's how they leave, and the fact that they never leave entirely. She said she couldn't live without me, and it was the absolute truth. She took part of me with her.

I told my psychiatrist that i've had trouble finding concern for my future. Some days, in ten years I think i'll be a famous writer, and some days I feel like I won't make it that long. I still hope for the best.

Lastly, I told my psychiatrist about you. Not that our future, much less my own, is ever certain, but i've been having less days where I wonder if i'll make it in this world. I've stopped having so many nightmares.

This morning, I stepped outside and noticed all the children playing at the park. The grass was wet with dew, the flowers bursting into bloom. The whole world tasted like lemonade.

I stepped back inside to take my new prescription. I choked a little.