Dear Friends,

As I go up my heart grows heavy. As I go down it does the same. My palms are sweaty and my brain won’t loosen their grip. The feeling of ascending or descending, mentally or physically, is always my worst fear and my fears are the things I carry. This might not make a lot of sense to you, but I’ll explain.

First I’ll tell you about a place. I would like to believe it only exists in my dreams. I walk in the dark, ominous door, I know what’s on the other side. All I see as I enter is a faint light and a black, iron spiral staircase; just as I expected. I force myself to stand near the stairs, but I’m too afraid to go up yet. Do I face one fear to leave another? It’s dark, gloomy and raining outside. “I can’t ever go back out there,” I say to myself. The dreadful spiral is the only way out, so I begin to climb. I grip the handrails and my legs begin to shake, my hands tremble more than usual. The farther I climb, the more terrified I become. The sound of my footsteps on the cold, hard metal doesn’t help me, not even the faint light at the top does. I keep repeating “I’m going to fall” as I make my way up. If I look down my mind races and I feel like I’m going to throw up. I don’t realize I’m at the top until the light shines in my eyes repeatedly. Now, you may be expecting some big spiral tower to be the place I’m describing. You’d be wrong then. It’s a simple lighthouse. I’m deathly afraid of heights and falling, and lighthouses really get to me. They’re not the only thing, but they seem to be the most frequent tall thing that I’m on. Roller coasters and stairs in general freak me out too.

Those fears weigh a lot on me since I can’t do the things I want to do. If my friends want to go to Cedar Point I make up some excuse so that I don’t have to go. I went one time and I was scared out of my mind on The Millenium. Waiting in line was the worst experience. Seeing the people in front of me shoot off screaming made me want to leave. When we got on the ride I wanted off immediately, I thought I was going to die the whole time. The wind shooting past my ears and the velocity moving my insides around scared me to death. I gripped the little metal bar, the only thing that was keeping me in, with all my strength and never let go. My friend next to me yelling to put my hands up just made it worse. I don't think I blinked the whole ride. I didn’t ride any more after that. That fear hinders me a lot, but it’s not my only one.

My other fear is a little hard to explain. It’s multiple things, but they all make up one large fear. I fear my memories and I fear my own emotions, I fear the idea of losing my happiness again. At one point in my life I was extremely depressed. It was about 3 years ago. I felt nothing and too much at the same time. I’ve told this story to 2 people prior to right now, one is one of my best friends and the other one was someone I used to love, but they broke my heart, even with this knowledge. I won’t provide a name but if you know me then you know it’s my first and only girlfriend. I loved her more than anything and she didn’t care in the end. She knew everything I’m about to tell you, and still she broke my heart. Interestingly enough, I don’t even hate her for it, because sadly, the time I was with her was the happiest point in my life. As for what I’m about to tell you, a lot of things came together all at once and I couldn’t handle it.

Well, here it goes.

He stood with a smile on his face, but if you went a little farther underneath it wouldn’t be there. In it’s place would be a quivering lip and tears streaming down his face. Inside his mind there would only be questions with no answers, “Why do I feel this way?”, “How do I stop this?”, “Why can’t she come back?”. You’d never have been able to figure out the smile was fake, he’d worn it so long that it looked completely natural now. His mind was dark and his heart was like a ball and chain weighing him down. He never said a word about it because he feared being looked down upon, being told he was selfish and an attention seeker, or that he needed to grow a pair and suck it up. The things he felt were his alone and he wouldn’t share them with anyone out of fear. So many things hit him at once he didn’t know what to do, so instead he felt nothing. He is me a few years ago, and he frightens me to the core because I never want to be him ever again. I may be cheerful and personable now, but I wasn’t always this way. This is the story of why.

I dealt with death at a young age. My grandmother died when I was six after she had lived with me and my family for over a year. She was my best friend and the most respected person in my life, and she still is after 10 years. For the longest time I thought she’d just come back after taking an extended nap or sorts. I needed her and sometimes I still do. She was the sweetest person I’ve ever met. She would help anyone, no questions asked. She’d sit with me and read stories, watch tv, and act out things from my imagination with me. She was dying inside but she never showed it, I can’t remember her ever being sad. She lived in our spare bedroom and I couldn’t have been more happy to have her there. There’s a lot I could say about her, but my best memories are of her art skills.

As a child I loved the show Lilo and Stitch. I’d watch it every weekend and every time there’d be a new episode my grandmother would watch it with me and draw the new “Experiment” which were the unique new characters in every episode. I’d sit at our rectangular dining table and intently watch her draw my favorite characters. Her fingers moving effortless on the paper creating things that weren’t there before. It amazed me. I still have all of them in a book. She passed before being able to watch more of the new episodes.

The death of my grandmother didn’t quite hit me until I realized she wasn’t coming back. I wondered why she was gone, I questioned God, but never got answers for years. I asked why I couldn’t have more time with her. I wanted 5 more minutes to say goodbye since I never got to. I wanted more time with my best friend. I questioned for the next few years, thus I began to doubt my faith, ultimately giving up on it. A lot of people know I’m an atheist, but no one knows why, or at least truly why. With my faith gone I had nothing to lean on any more. No being to talk to about my problems. I went only downward from there.

Depression hits you hard. A lot of things contributed to mine. I had left my faith behind, my best friend was gone forever, I was overweight and made fun of, I felt as if I was losing my friends one by one, my parents had begun fighting, and I felt alone. I contemplated death on more than one than one occasion. So much so that I have no fear of death anymore. I feel as if I know death on a personal level, since I was so close to it for a long time. Like the third brother, “And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, as equals, they departed this life.” Not all was doom and gloom though. I’ve never told him this, but my best friend Brendan is probably the reason I’m alive. He stands at almost my height, and has been mistaken as my twin on more than one occasion. He is one of the most energetic people you’ll ever meet and can lift your spirits really easily. He stayed by my side and while I was at school I felt alive. That’s why I love school and why I try so hard to do well. Brendan saved me and I’ve never told him. I guess you could add being alone to my list of fears too, because that was probably the leading cause of  my depression. It wasn’t the only thing though.

My memories of that time weigh heavy on me. I try everything in my power to stay away from those feelings again. My life is a lot better now. I feel a lot better about myself and I’m confident, but there isn’t a day that I’m not afraid of those memories. I’ve come to realize something though, those who have felt no happiness appreciate happiness more than anyone else on this planet. That’s where this story ends, and in the end I’m still here, alive, but now carrying these things with me.

Those are the things I carry, I doubt I’ll ever be rid of them. My memories serve as a warning to my future self, as words of protection to my friends, because after being saved by one of them, I’d give my life for any of them. If I call someone my friend that means more than normal, it means I trust them with myself. I trust them with my memories and the fact that they won’t let me go back there again. I respect everyone because of my fears, you never know how someone feels on the inside so I try to help everyone. The things I carry have changed me for the bad and for the good. I’ve become a better person because of them but I’ve seen things in my mind that still haunt me.

Sincerely yours,