I listened to your songs non-stop for a few years now. It feels like someone finally gets me. Standing in line to meet you, you who sings my soundtrack - I'm bursting with happiness at the seams. The line moves along and I find myself face to face with you. I can't speak. And so I don't shut up. "Your song "Eternal" got me through..." I continue, "and your song...means this..." I keep going. "It keeps me inspired and encouraged. Your lyrics are great." Take the autograph and move on right? I add, "and your music sounds just like your lyics." I blush after realizing the damamge I have done. The singer looks casual in his button down with tossled hair, like September ocean waves. There are creases around his eyes and smile, proof of lessons and questions from over the years. I gaze down at the grass and dirt. I leave the tent. But he is standing up and half following me out. "Thank you so much," he says. He grins. "Really, I appreciate it." I'm insecure and labeling myself with words like stupid, if not stupid itself. I smile and disapear around the side of the tent. Less then a month later I found myself curled up in the corner of a safe room. This was the result of a desperate move I had made the night before. Mutilating. A week later I find myself sitting in my therapist's office. He is young, I think. I couldn't tell you how young though. He listens to me speak then tells me to breathe. He smiles at me like my favorite musician did. He uses checkers pieces and sketches to help me during our sessions.

He gets serious and looks me square in the eye, "you have to learn how to advocate for youself." He also said, "I'm saying this because-" And this is what made me smile - "because I think I get you."

I was pretty happy. Two people in this world who seem to get me. The first one is the one who writes songs to my life - who uses words to say things I could never say but oh man, did I feel it. And the second one, who listens to me and smiles with a look of amusement and as though to say, "seriously?" I can't tell what he is thinking. I like when I tell him, "if I bug you or take up to much time..." I like when he interupts me. "Why don't you let me worry about that? Okay?" It's nice. It's nice to have him say that's for him to worry about. As far as I go, in the meantime, I can exhale.

Two people, who get me. And somehow, the world grows a little less dark. It's a glimmer. Or a glow. Or something. But it's the faint light of something at the end. Like something at the end of a tunnel.

If I can stay focused, then that's good. If I can speak up for myself, that's even better. If I can realize I can't fix everyone's problems and am not responsible for "keeping the peace," then that's good too.

I have to wonder, when I try so hard and was there in front of you - doing everything I could for you - you didn't know who I was. You completely scared me and I felt so alone. I wondered where I would go if I didn't live there. But I won't go there. I went back to my mom's house. I left your house, dad.

It might be hard for you to understand. But it's not hard for me to explain. And I'm not going to.

How realisitic is it, that we all look in the mirror and go "hey, you look great" and feel good about ourselves? It's not. But the thing is, I actually kind of, feel good today.

Even though I'm not in school, and still miss my ex-boyfriend sometimes, have no license, and don't really feel like I belong anywhere... nothing is worth making me feel that alone. And I hope you can believe that for yourself too.