I've gone through a lot to come here. I've gained hope, after spending years knowing it didn't exist. I've left home, and ever since wished I hadn't. I have spend entire, days, weeks even thinking about whether I could turn my life around, and I did. And ever since I have, I am fiercely upset. I am truly angry. How could I have spent those years of my life on this darkness, when I should have been a young adult- doing what young adults do? The bitter truth is that I have missed those four years of my life to absolutely nothing. I have cried alone in my closet so, so many times. I have felt my heart break, all to the belief that I wasn't worth life…That I needed to stop living to feel alive again.I used to write these letters to God, some hopeful and some extremely dark. I would yell at him intently, asking why. Why do you make life so hard? How do I even know you exist? How do I know your real, and that I'm not praying to a figment of my imagination?And that is when the real fear begun. With a simple thought that changed everything. What if I die, with a prayer to god on my lips, the one who doesn't exist? What if I die believing in a lie, believing in it so intently, that I was somehow blind to the truth? This idea ate at the back of my mind for a long, long time. It slowly tore away at the relationship I had with my boyfriend, and caused me to feel distant with my family. I begun to make logic of god: if you can't see something, how do you know it's real? Why does god hate me, if I am a bisexual? Why does god promise homosexuals a hell of no alleged crimes? Why does god set restrictions on me, why doesn't he set me free? And so, just like that, I begun to call myself an athiest. An athiest who cried at nights, an athiest who began to lose more than my religion, but my sanity. I lost that little light I had left.But life is a symphony. It never stops. Whether I'm dancing to the blues, or when the saxophones hit a roaring high, I'm still here. And even when the music stops, I don't. I fixed my broken heart with broken shards of myself. It hurt, and sometimes felt more damaging than healing, but I did it. I looked out the window as much as I could, taught myself how to smile. And you know what the funniest thing is? After a while, it actually comes naturally.But I realized it most when I looked into my brothers eyes, the most beautiful, biggest eyes I think exist. Most of the times, they are filled with a light I am envious of. There is this innocent, childish happiness inside there, the kind I yearn for. When my brother is lonely, which happens when all the work's day is done, the spark disappears. I catch tears in his eyes sometimes. He wants to talk, to be normal. He wants go outside and communicate with those his age. He wants to live. He just wants. And that is all the truth I need and want. All I want is to give my brother a normal and happy life. I don't ever want to see a single tear in his eyes. I want to push him on the swing when he's 65, because that will make him clap with joy. I want to give him absolutely everything, because that is what love and life is: selfless.


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