February 8, 2016 was supposed to be a lot of things. It was supposed to be a lazy day full of studying, catching up on sleep, and preparing for the week ahead.

It was none of those things. If I am being completely honest, that day was a blur. A blur that consists of my phone ringing and hearing the tense voice of one of my best friends, hurriedly leaving my house, driving in silence, hugs, tears, phone calls, and more earth shattering silence.

February 8, 2016 was the day Allen Nasworthy died.

Saying he died seems so unreal. In previous experiences with death, there was a chance to say goodbye-with Allen I feel like I barely got to say hello. Allen was one of the best people I ever met. He could light up a room simply by walking in. His charisma was contagious and his influence was felt. In addition to all these spectacular traits, he was a warrior. A warrior who lost a tough battle

Allen was battling depression. He fought hard and still lost. Not only did he loose, but his loved ones lost a large part of our lives. Allen was a private person and did not talk much about his struggle, which is why when I was tasked with calling people that day, I did not feel like I was lying when I said “Allen died unexpectedly”- that’s what we told people, he died unexpectedly. Now that I have had time to process that day and think about it, I kick myself for phrasing it like that. Sure, it was unexpected to us. We didn’t know what the war zone in his head was like. People suffering from depression do not always feel comfortable or know how to communicate what they are feeling.

Why is this? Is it because it makes them a bad person? NO. Is it because they do not want to be stigmatized and viewed as weak? Studies say, absolutely. How do we change this? It is up to the survivors, the loved ones of the lost, and the ones still fighting to remove the stigma associated with mental health and depression. Cancer, heart disease, and other illness are researched and advocated for on a daily basis, mental health awareness and suicide prevention deserves the same attention.

Suicide leaves a hole in the hearts of those affected. It leaves questions forever without answers. Suicide makes someone think about the world differently.

I thought February 8, 2016 was one of the hardest days of my life-I was wrong. It was only the beginning of the hard days. Now I have to face a world without one of my greatest friends and mentors. I have to scroll by his name in my phone and remind myself not to text him. I have to pass the exit to my second home and not go visit him. I have to change the radio station when I hear the beginning of “You Should Be Here.” I have to replay every conversation we ever had and hope he knew how much he means to me.

I am trying not to focus on him not being here anymore, I try to live in a manner that honors the life he lived. Living like he did before he got sick. He gave his all in every task, no matter how large or small. That is why I will work tirelessly to bring awareness to mental health and suicide prevention. On April 24, 2016, I will be walking in the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP) Out of the Darkness Walk in memory of Allen. The link is included below, and I hope you will feel inclined to check it out and educate yourself to save a life.

To those of you fighting, KEEP FIGHTING. Your life is valuable and your worth is endless. To those of you with a loved one fighting; support them, encourage them to seek help, love them, and choose your words carefully. To those of you who have lost someone; I am terribly sorry for your loss and pray for you daily. And to those we have lost to this ugly battle; you are gone, but never forgotten and I hope your soul found the peace it was looking for.

Out of the Darkness Walks!

We were in the car driving past the hubby buildings of Athens, Georgia and I was scared shitless.

They were classic American structures no more than five stories high made entirely out of brick. Refurbished factories converted into retail hotspots and trendy bars. Athens was a complex in the middle of a vast expanse, like a sturdy tree shooting high above a flooded valley that said yes sir, how’re y’all, and we’ll pray for you. Out in the distance the rolling, rolled-over fields allowed the last of the February chill to carry through town. Bryan Wish was in the front seat with his mom talking about what he was going to say when everyone arrived at the event. The Wish Dish One Year Anniversary.

I was sitting in the back holding some banners that covered my face silently venting what the hell are you doing. I was terrified. Didn’t look it but I wanted to jump out the car at the next red light and rush into Pauley’s Crepe Bar. Have a drink at the end of the bar and forget it all, that’s what I wanted. Don’t bother with these people, Matt, just go back inside yourself. But then I had to remind myself of how some wise ass kid from Reston, Virginia touched over 200 peoples’ lives in ways he couldn’t imagine.

Let me start off by telling you how me, a guy with a nasally drone and bad attitude got to know UGA’s own Bryan Wish.

We were living in Virginia, both in 6^th grade, and we played youth football together. Never really took to each other but that was mostly my fault. I never spoke–to anyone. I was a shy kid who liked to knock his big head around. After that, we happened to play on the same house league basketball team. Don’t remember much except losing in the semi-finals.

After that we didn’t talk for over a decade. We both had amassed different lives over the years. He went into sports and marketing while I tried to be a poet, still trying. One night I remember sitting in the living room of my apartment at Providence College, after an evening of trying to forget that college was coming to an end, I get a Facebook message; it’s Bryan. His mom had caught up with my mom at a Christmas party. That night there was this distinct March chill, like it belonged among the hills of Athens but laid to rest in small, grey Providence. Bryan found out I was a creative writing major (I wanted a lucrative career…) and asked me to write a piece. He said there were no boundaries, no limits, just something true and authentic. Right away, I said ‘sure.’

Damn Matt. What are you going to write about, you’re a fiction writer, you tell lies and call them stories. You’ve never written anything true in your life. After a couple of days thinking on what I should put down, I decided to write about something I had never talked about before. Bryan’s point to make it authentic and providing a place for it to live gave me the balls to go all out. Nothing held back. It was called “The Invaluable Luxury of a Second Chance.” I’ll admit it was tough getting it on paper. But after the tears and anguish and memories washing over me, it was over. It was actually over.

My body felt underweight. Like a tumor I’d grown attached to had been extracted and what filled up was understanding, relief.

The response to my piece was incredible. Thousands of people read it. I received messages telling me how raw and powerful it was. Truth has a way of settling in people’s hearts. To this day, I hope I will never feel as proud of a piece of writing.

Bryan slowly began acclimating me to this culture of self-expression in its infancy.

He asked over the next few months leading up to and after my graduation if I’d be willing to help him edit a few pieces here and there. I thought ‘sure, why not.’ I was the unofficial associate editor to the Wish Dish. People wrote me back and forth asking me: a guy who didn’t have anything figured out beyond what he was going to do in the next three hours, to lay out their deepest thoughts in the best way possible. I was more than happy to help.

Nurturing a story, a narrative of a life coming from someone where he or she expresses themselves most through language, is one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve ever had. Fast forward a couple months after graduation, Bryan asked me to be the manager of all content. I said, ‘sure.’ Yup, I was on my way. But not everything was so smooth in my life.

For the better part of a year after taking on the role, I went through a rough time. A combination of a bad breakup, entrenched anxiety, depression, and post-graduation uncertainty sent me down a twister of drinking, erratic behavior, and self-destructive tendencies. Longstanding issues I chose to ignore for several years came back to the forefront, like a bad chemical reaction. I reverted into a version of myself who acted savage and selfish. Kept thinking you’re nothing you piece of trash and who do you think you are Mr. Writer? Those voices plagued every portion of my mind and drinking was one of the only things that made it quiet. Drink until it went black, that was the prescription.

But there was one activity that gave me a center, a grounding. Working for The Wish Dish.

The time was approaching for the Wish Dish One Year Anniversary. It had already been one year…my God. I began to accept that there was no escape from what I was about to witness. Bryan was about to finally integrate this eclectic community of writers and artists that all had one thing in common, the essence of truth. I was going all-in, a commitment. There’d be no bars or dark corners to hide in.

We’d pulled up to Nuci’s Space, this venue dedicated to the club owner’s son. Nuci was a talented guitarist on his way to becoming a real staple in the Athens music scene. But he took his own life at the age of 22. On the back wall right next to a stage riddled with guitars like a shrine there was this eight foot tall picture of Nuci standing in the middle of a field looking up to the sky. It looked like he was thinking why can’t I be up there, maybe if I jump high enough…and a jab of realization got me right in the mouth. That could have been me. It was a real possibility that if I let shit get bad enough then I probably wouldn’t be able to dig myself out. If the drinking got that bad, and kept on feeling bad for myself–Right now I could be sailing the clouds up there with Nuci looking for a place to land on the sun. After a full year of looking through hundreds of stories from hundreds of people, I realized that apart from having the love and support of a wonderful family, these stories had formed me and kept my legs planted on the ground.

I’m not saying I’m a better person or that I’m cured but I will say these stories I am a conduit for, saved me.

During the long nights of barhopping, sometimes alone, finding a shadowed corner to paint with my self-pity, waking up early trying to remember how I got back, I’d check the site and make sure everything was running smoothly. Bryan counted on me to get these stories together, these people were depending on me. I thought I had been through some shit in my time but, I had no idea how much shit life throws at you until I read these stories, your stories. They, these men and women, had allowed me to gain a perspective that my life was nothing in the grand scheme if I didn’t want it to be anything. There was this center and that was the Wish Dish.

Instead of making meaning out of every day (my old motto), I wanted people to remember that I at least tried and that was all the meaning I’d need. I was ready to leave that jerkish asshole behind and start a new chapter of my life dedicated to a higher purpose greater than my own gain—But then, another wave hit me. I was in a riptide of revelation. Shit, all those people who’ve entrusted their words to you are going to be here tonight and you’re going to see them face to face. I was finally going to see each of them, talk to them, shake their hands. Oh for the love of shit, Matt, you’re just figuring this out now?! Anxiety was kicking in two-fold.

There was no distance, no invisible fourth wall to separate me from these people. Before, they were more ideas to me who had created beautiful language, like angels. Looking these people in the eye would be like a flashback from an acid trip and that freaked me out.

Standing still in the middle of the Nuci’s giving myself a 360 degree view, I was petrified again. I needed to see if I could slug a few beers to calm the nerves. The amount of relief is almost indescribable when I found out this event had an open bar. Never said I stopped drinking and, hey, I’m not perfect. After a few Tropicalias, I got to meet the rest of the incredible core of the Wish Dish staff.

Shelby Novak, our social media director, saw me. My face was a bit flushed from the beers, Irish red, and she straight-up hugged me. I could just feel that there was a kindness and good will emanating from her, I’d like to think I picked up a little bit of that. She had the Athens vibe, happy to help someone, to give someone a blanket on a cold spring night even when she might need it more.

Not too long after we had all the chairs set up, hung all the posters, and the microphone sound tested I saw the head of content strategy, Sam Dickinson. Dressed to the nines in a blazer, khakis, and a tie he made my blue button down with Polo sneakers a bit underdressed. He shook my hand with an earnestness I don’t see in many people. Along with being as tall as a redwood he’s a great guy, he’s genuine. We three had invested so much into giving people a voice in a world where words have increasingly diminished in their significance. People use them as throwaway symbols, like inconveniences suffered through for the sake of communication. This site and these people and most importantly these stories from young, old, sad, happy, empowered, victimized—they had come into this melting pot where each was celebrated and welcome.

And dammit I was going meet them, needed a few more beers as they all started trickling in.

The event went off without a hitch. I’ll let Bryan explain it from his perspective but just let me say that he is the core of this whole thing, a molder of culture. Believe it.

Nearly 200 people showed. That’s 200 stories I’ve read. How would they see me? Would I get criticized for my methods? Do they even know who I am? Did they think their stories were just magically put up on the site?

The amount of welcome and thanks I received shocked me to the foundation.

I talked with Tom Bestul, who had written a story about his experience at Camp Kesem, a camp for children whose families had been affected by cancer. His story inspired me to volunteer more. Another one was Megan Swanson, a former Miss Nebraska who gave her perspective on the highly criticized beauty pageant process. She helped to broaden my horizons. And Denna Babul’s story of love for her dying mother-in-law demonstrated how strong a bond one can share with another. If only I could have talked to every single one of these people I would have relived every moment perusing their words. With each passing recollection and introduction the moments grew more surreal. It might have been the beer but the whole event seemed to gather this arid, temperate hue like the words exchanged between all these storytellers was adding substance to the air, filling a void. I don’t know, maybe I was sloshed. But it was beautiful nonetheless.

The event was coming to an end and I felt the need to say something.

First I want to thank Bryan for allowing me to make the closing remarks. Standing up there, the crowd stared, all focus magnified on me like was under a hot beam on an ant hill. Matt what the hell are you going to say you have nothing prepared you never prepare for anything but can you ever be prepared for the truth, truth, yes, the truth just tell the truth—And this is a rough cut of what I said, it is a thanks to all you contributors, past and present.

Hey everyone, I’m Matt Gillick and I’m the chief editor. I’ve read all your stories and for that—well let me first that I’m sorry for any mistakes I made for any of your pieces—I’m not perfect but I try. I just thought that it would be decent of me to say a few words and to thank you all. Thank you guys for taking such a risk, not necessarily a physical risk but an emotional risk in entrusting me to nurture your words and publish them for everyone to see. Someone whom you’ve never met before and haven’t seen until right now got to see the inner you and what really makes you tick. Through language you showed me a corner of your soul. I wanted to let you all know that you are all incredible people. I have been shaped by your stories, every one of them. Let me finish by saying hopefully one day I can be a fraction of the person you all are now—when I’m older and greyer.  

Later on I walked outside, into the evening. There wasn’t a chill rolling from the hills anymore. Downtown was lit up and beckoning. Bryan patted me on the back as we looked out into the night, about eight Tropicalias deep, and I was happy.

For the first time in a while, I was happy.

“What is depression like?” They ask her.

The number of times she has tried to explain this, put her feelings into words, was innumerable. There’s no way they would ever understand, but at least they were trying. It was nice that they wanted to know her.

“It’s hopelessness,” she replied, “It is walking into a room and knowing that you don’t belong, you aren’t wanted now nor will you ever be. It is that feeling of someone pulling away when you try to reach out and touch them. It is pitch-black nights, staring at the ceiling until morning because your brain will not let you sleep. It is the chill in the breeze that sends shivers down your back, but you have no place to take refuge. It is leaving home knowing you can never go back again.”

“So it’s like sadness?” they respond, “I have felt sadness, grief even.”

“Yeah, but it is more than that,” She continues, “It is sitting out of recess when your friends are all playing Red Rover. It is serving time for a crime you didn’t commit. It is wanting to be heard only to learn that you have no voice at all. It is the lump in your throat, the pit in your stomach, the slouch in your shoulders. It is being convinced that it is all your fault and you are the problem with this world. It is thinking that you probably deserve it.”

They sit with puzzled looks on their faces, unsure how to respond. “But you know it isn’t your fault, don’t you?”

Her face softens. “Well, yeah, I do, but that’s what makes depression so much darker than sadness.”

“It tells you that you are wrong, that you are the problem, that the whole world would be a hell of a lot happier if you had never existed.” Her voice catches in her throat, “You become so numb, that any feeling will do, even if it leaves scars in its wake. The wave crashes over you and you are drowning, but you were never breathing anyway, so what difference does it make. It follows you around and takes away the light in your eyes, as you pray that someone might notice you are being held hostage.

You want them to see, but depression always hides. No one is going to notice. No one is going to care. That is depression.

1 in 4 college athletes suffer from depression. I am that one.

The daughter of a pastor, basketball player at Clemson University, a perfectionist, I am that one athlete that suffers from depression.

From a young age, I’ve always lived my life trying to please the people around me, trying to do the right thing, and trying to live that “perfect” life. I’ve always made good grades, I played 3 sports in high school, I went to church every Sunday, and I was on track to graduating college ahead of time. So it might be shocking to some people that I am that 1 athlete that suffers from depression.

You know the nervous feeling you get when you’re about to play in the big game, take the big test, or even make a big decision? What about the lump you get in your throat that makes you feel like you can’t breathe right before the tears start to fall. It’s the empty feeling or confusion that makes it so hard to deal with. It’s the sadness that overcomes you when you know you have to get out of the bed to just try to make it through a day that seems like it will never end.

It’s the feeling of loneliness when you’re sitting by yourself and your thoughts consume you. It’s even the feeling of anger that overtakes you and you don’t understand why it has to be you.

A feeling of hopelessness when you wonder why you even try because nothing good can come out of trying anymore. It’s the feeling of being afraid that you have to finally speak up and find the help that you desperately need.

The weight of embarrassment you carry when in the back of your mind you know that not everyone will understand what’s going on when you try your hardest to explain it to them.

Confusion because you don’t even know what’s wrong. It’s the feeling of the little white pills swirling around in the bottle as you decide if it’s really worth it. “What will my family do? What if my roommate finds me? How will my boyfriend feel? Will it be a cop out? Will I go straight to hell? Do I leave a note?”

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18

All these feelings that make me that one college athlete that suffers from anxiety and depression.

I knew that something was wrong when it became a big deal to get out of the bed. This became difficult because I knew that if I got up and left the house, I would be faced with responsibilities that I didn’t think I could handle.

When I would finally muster up the courage to leave, the house I would get a nervous and sad feeling that would overtake me, but I had no idea why I was feeling that way. I would be around so many people, but feel so alone.

I would cry, but nothing was wrong. I had a constant nervous feeling, about what, I had no idea. It was hard to smile and even harder to laugh and I knew that something was really wrong. My days were full of classes, workouts, tutors, and homework; but the depression and anxiety always found a way to work itself into my day.

“Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” 1 Peter 5:6-7

I tried to hide these terrible and confusing feelings from everyone that I could, but what was going on inside of me began to show up on the outside. I wasn’t myself anymore. I couldn’t eat. I struggled to sleep. My grades were slipping. I was missing class and suicidal thoughts started to fill my head.

The hardest part of it all was why me.

I couldn’t figure out what I did to deserve what I was going through. I had gotten to the point to where I was just tired of being tired. I was praying and it seemed like God wasn’t even listening.

I tried to remind myself that everything was going to be okay and that I was going to come out of this difficult situation that I was in a bigger and better person than I was, but I didn’t really believe the things that I was telling myself. When I began to have suicidal thoughts I knew that someone needed to know that I was going through so I began to throw hints about what was going on to my boyfriend.

I was praying that he would have the answer to what would make me feel better through this tough time. He finally convinced me to open up to my parents about the things that I was really going through.

I wasn’t sure how I could explain to my parents that I was going through so much without them knowing that anything was going on. I didn’t want them to feel like they weren’t doing an amazing job as parents because they were doing everything and more to make sure that I was well taken care of even while I was in school.

I knew that I wouldn’t be able to have this conversation face to face with my parents so I decided that I would send a text message to my mom to give her an idea of what was really going on behind all the I’m doing great text messages that I was sending every day.

“The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” Deuteronomy 31:8

I decided that I needed the help of a professional and soon after, I began seeing a physiologist who has been such a major part of my recovery.

I decided that I would take a break from basketball to focus on my personal and mental health and just getting better as a whole. I spent time at home surrounded by amazing people like my family, my boyfriend, and my best friend, Makayla.

It made a huge difference. I was surrounded by so many prayers, and a lot of love, and I began to notice a change in my happiness. This time at home was great, but also hard. I was no longer worrying about school, basketball, and everything else that came with college, but my main focus was on having to face what was really going on in my life.

Having the professional help I needed and an amazing support system behind me has gotten me through the most difficult times and brought me closer to the happiness that I’ve always known.

I’ve had some very amazing people that have stuck by my side through everything that has been going on and I’m so thankful for that. My family has understood me on my good days and my not so good days.

My boyfriend has stuck it out through the good, the bad, and the real ugly. My roommate, Victoria, has been more of a blessing than she will ever know. And lastly my amazing friend, Makayla, has been there through everything and she has listened to even the smallest complaints from over 300 miles away. Through everything that has been going on, God has still been doing some amazing things in my life and I am nothing but blessed, for this journey I know that better days are coming.

Jesus replied, “You don’t understand now what I am doing, but someday you will.”

—John 13:7

Someday I will.

(Written by Naomi M.)

Hello. I’m not quite sure how to start this out so I’m just going to jump right into this.

It started with my childhood which I don’t remember much of actually. I do remember my dad coming home drunk and starting fights with my mom. There was constant yelling and he would always punch holes in the walls. I am the youngest and I have two older sisters.

Because of this, we were always pretty scared those nights.

I remember one night I was getting out of the shower and my dad was banging on doors and windows trying to get in because he was locked out. I was so scared I hid in my room behind my bed so he couldn’t see me from outside. Of course that was after my parents got a divorce.

The problem was that my mom still let my dad come around and stay the nights sometimes because she thought we still needed him in our lives. She was wrong because the longer it dragged on, the more damaged we became.

I don’t blame her for anything though. I blame the alcohol and all the other drugs that consumed my father or who was my father. Life went on and I grew older.

Fast forward to eighth grade. I reconnected with my best friend that year. Now in eighth grade I started dating this guy and I swore I was in love with him or whatever. Long story short I lost my virginity to him. I hope none of you judge me because I thought I was going to be with him forever and that was my mentality until… my freshman year. I found out he was cheating on me and I was devastated.

I broke up with him and went two months trying to get over him. It was a messy break up as he would try to call me and insult me when he knew I already moved on.

After that point in my life I fell into a deep depression.

I found out about self-harm and started cutting myself. It was never really that deep but it did something. Overall, sophomore year was the worst of them all. I liked this guy in my English class. Let’s call him Lewis and I thought he was sweet and kind, blah, blah, blah. He was also very successful in school so I guess I liked that a lot too and I assumed it would mean he’s a good guy.

Well, I was wrong. Boy, was I wrong. We started dating and with the way he treated me I started to believe that I was worthless and I deserved to be treated like the piece of crap I was. I was still cutting myself at this time and I had a close friend at this time too who also harmed herself.

Well Lewis knew about my cutting and he would always yell at me for doing it and call me stupid and a bunch of stuff. It was a big problem since I leaned on cutting so I couldn’t really stop and honestly the relationship wasn’t all that great so I couldn’t stop.

Anyways that is how the relationship went on which was very damaging. We would fight all the time and I would always have to feel like I would have to be careful around him or when I was talking to him as to not anger him.

Anyways, February came… February 17th was the worst day ever.

It was the day he raped me.

It took me two and a half years to accept the fact that it wasn’t my fault. It took me one year to tell my best friend what happened. She was mad that I kept it from her for so long but she understood and was completely devastated and furious.

I was 15 at the time of the assault. I didn’t go to therapy until I was 18. I have gotten really close to committing suicide twice. The first time my mom made me go see a counselor. It was our agreement so she wouldn’t send me to a mental hospital. Keep in mind that to this day none of my family knows about the incident.

Anyways, I went to the counseling as we agreed and talking to this counselor guy. I told this guy everything, like about the sexual assault, how I had an alcoholic dad, etc. I was 17 I believe at this time but this counselor guy took a different route.

Instead of prescribing me antidepressants or something, he blamed my almost suicide attempt on my seizure medication. He ignored the fact that I was raped, hated myself, and wanted to die. It wasn’t my medication.

Anyways, because of his idea on the situation I had to talk to my neurologist (doctor) to change my prescription. It was a lot of work and really didn’t affect me. The second time, cops were called to my house and I had to talk to them.

Two and a half years after the incident, I actually went to therapy.

Anyways, therapy helped a lot and I learned that a lot of my past relationships were abusive and unhealthy. I blamed it on my childhood and the way I had to grow up.

I learned a lot and it helped me heal. Sometimes it gets hard but I have a support group and they love me.

I will heal and I will get through this day by day. I am now a warrior and I am now a survivor. You can do it too. I love you. Stay Strong.

(Anonymous)

Hello it’s me, hi, happy New Year ______! You don’t have to reply to this letter if you don’t want to, and I am SO sorry this is so late and incredibly overdue. I fully expect you to be annoyed and over the strain between us right now but, I just want you to know that I love you a lot and that you could never do anything at all to me or for me to not think the world of you, your character, and your heart for other people.

I fully accept responsibility for my actions as a shitty friend, but please know it wasn’t my intention. It wasn’t because of you or anything you did.

This is purely me, and I think sitting down to analyze it, I realize that I couldn’t talk to you about it because I respect your opinion and I know what you have to say is going to be true. Maybe, subconsciously I didn’t want to hear the truth I already knew but was denying myself. This might sound like a bunch of frustrating BS but please at least keep reading so I can best get across why I have been so panicky about talking to you. I feel so stupid and weak. I’m don’t remotely feel like myself saying all of this so its hard for me to explain, especially to someone who knows me as well as you do.

I just hope this comes across the way I mean/feel. I have spent months typing this out and throwing my letters away. I have a ton of envelopes addressed to you tucked in my bible because I just can’t seem to bring myself to tell you just what’s going on. (Partially, because I myself don’t know and I’m having a hard time fighting it.) I think the fact that I know I’m a strong person with a positive mindset is what makes it so difficult for me to accept something is wrong. This semester, I barely went to class, barely went out (believe it or not), didn’t participate in anything that I love, and stopped volunteering and praying entirely. Not because I didn’t want to though, that’s the part I struggle with.

I just had no motivation to get out of bed.

I didn’t want to run or work out or even get up to shower because it was simply too much effort for the day. I would wake up and just wish I were asleep. Opening my eyes to realize it was day was only followed by a nagging pain in my heart, an annoyance that I had to get up and deal with the day. That’s not me. That’s NOT who I am and that’s NOT who I want to be. I can’t keep living this way.

You know I don’t believe in taking medicine everyday. I believe everything you do is mental. Your mind controls your perception and your mood and the amazing thing is, I fully believe that humans have the ability to alter that. Mind over matter, get over it, get your ass out of bed, follow your dreams, life you life, seek joy, love wholeheartedly, be the person you have been sculpting and refining for 2 decades. It sounds dramatic. I’m not crying yet, but my heart aches writing this as if I were. I don’t know why this is happening. I don’t know why I can’t shake it as easily as I want to. I know I WILL, but I think I needed a new approach and a supportive environment for this weird, foreign time my life.

I have been pushing this off for a long time and I think it is all finally catching up with me. Consequently, the anxiety is increasing exponentially. I’ve realized that I am a sensitive person, more so than I ever thought I was. I am sure I don’t need to be so much of that.

I knew I finally needed to get help when I stopped wanting to shower or be conscious. It really scared me that in my mind I thought of drinking as something I could use to ease my consciousness. I never acted on it, and that makes me feel a little more in control, but the thought still lived in my mind.

I stopped wanting to wake up.

This is weird, not hard for me to say because I believe I would never act on it. It’s not who I am or what I believe in but thoughts of just ending it all fill my mind daily and that’s when I knew I couldn’t just sleep it off anymore. Something is wrong. My soul is dim and withering. Why can’t I just be me _____? I’m having really hard time attempting it with out thinking about something morbid. I can’t follow my heart; I can’t do basic things that I need to function. That’s bullshit. What is that? What the actual hell? What’s happening? I don’t like to say “I can’t”, I’d rather it be substituted with, “I’m not able to right now,” because I know I am going through this for a reason and that there is a plan in mind for me regardless if my shit is straightened out or in a complete, shambled, mess.

Whatever this has taken from me, it hasn’t taken my determination to get away from it as fast as I can. I think about death all the time wanting to or not, believing in hell or not. Myself or not Myself its there, and I need to get a handle on those thoughts. I went to my Dr., diagnosed with severe depression and high anxiety. Consequently, that’s why I was so nervous about talking to you. Freaking out over stupid stuff is a daily reminder that I’m not who I know myself to be. And, I don’t want anyone to know, because this isn’t who I am. This is not remotely who I am, and that eats at my core just like not talking to you was eating at me everyday.

I knew there would be a flood of emotion in explaining it all, and that I would have to reconcile with that. I’m so sorry _____. I am so sorry for how I have acted especially after you gave me the best birthday ever. I couldn’t even thank you for everything you did for me. I’m just so ashamed and weirded out by this phase and I just want it to be over. I’m taking medicine to appease my parents but I know this is a mental thing I must over come myself and that’s why I need to leave Athens for a little while. Sometimes I wonder if I have a brain tumor or something that’s altering my behavior unknowingly.

Please know I am doing better since being alone. I have been doing better at praying everyday and mostly because I want to pray for your Grandma Jo, and I hope everyday that she is doing better than the day before.

I love you so much and I honestly consider you my best friend. You get me and a lot of people just brush me off and think I’m weird. In all that I’m involved in, you’d think some people would notice like I know you would, but oddly enough, I’m safe in their indifference. Tired, is how I would relate the emotion in the simplest of terms. I’m tired of people who are too afraid to be themselves, the majority in my sorority; a “Top Tier!” group of “sisters forever”. Gag me. Sometimes It’s really just an avenue for rich little girls from the same area to take a power trip. Have some damn originality, and don’t refute others who dare to venture away form your safe identical pretty rose-colored bubbles you refuse to see the world without. I’ve never been a fan of people that only loved and gave people the time of day when it was convenient for them.

That’s a lot of salt.

A lot to swallow, but you know how aggravated shams make me. Things that aren’t appear as they seem. Which, I guess that makes me a hypocrite since I’m the one I’m sure people see as perfectly fine. Robin Williams said something I feel I can really relate to, “I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy because they know what it’s like to feel absolutely worthless and they don’t want anyone else to feel like that.” He also says, “The tragedy of life isn’t death, but what dies inside us while we are living”. I only hope that the part of me that dies and burns away, is this part. That’s my biggest fear right now. What if something good goes in its place? What if I loose my spirit and turn colder, they way you see so many adults have; changed from their youth, seasoned in darkness?

I only told ________ some of this because she would push it under the carpet in a way and not make me face the truth like I knew you would. I know that’s what I needed and what I am doing now by typing this all out. I would rather tell you this all in person but I feel like I would cry so much that I couldn’t get it all out and you know how I am about fully explaining myself lol.

My heart is breaking. I’m almost balling now, sitting on the beach typing this, listening to the waves crash. It’s a little chilly and I just spilt beer all over myself because a seagull scared me. You are my best friend and I have so much love for you. I’m filled with regret for ever making you feel bad and I can’t explain why I didn’t correct it sooner. I’m not a complete basket case yet. I know what I need to do. I just didn’t think the steps towards a different life would be this small. My parents think these magic pills I’m taking should already have “cured” me, but all I can do is ask God to help and to put my head down and get through this without hurting anyone I love in the process.

When ever I’ve thought about killing myself -don’t freak out I wouldn’t- I just know this is the sickness- I would’ve imagined that I would write long loving letters to the people I cared for, and buy them gifts, or end it quickly. Albeit now, when those thoughts creep into my daydreams they are impulsive and quick. No suicide note. No explanation, just a sunken car that lost control on a bridge or a body found hanging by a belt. It’s sick and disgusting and I’m ONLY telling you any of this because I don’t want you to think you weren’t a good friend to me because you, ______, were the best.

I also don’t want you to think I’m crazy, or incredibly weak.

I think that’s part of the other reason I didn’t want to tell you. I’m not crazy. I’m not overwhelmingly sad. I just have had my passion and love for life almost sucked out of me. I can’t operate without loving fully and being the caring selfless person I want to be. It’s not easy for me to do that now, but it will be again. I can promise you that. So please don’t worry, I am relieved you know and I can talk to you, and I will send you lots of pictures and love from wherever life takes me. Well, I don’t know if I will be back in Athens, or If I will be overseas rekindling my love for life and people the only way I know how -by stripping myself of distractions and possessions and focusing just on selflessly serving others.

This thing comes in waves. I don’t feel like this all the time. I know I am going up from here. I feel so weird and out of place and dramatic saying all of this, but all I can say is that I know what it is and I am trying everyday to fix it. I love you a lot _____, and I will always! Please let me know if you ever need anything and I will drop what I am doing for you. Don’t feel like you need to reply/ I just wanted you to know the entirety of it. Good and bad. I’m sorry that this letter is just a jumbled bunch of unorganized thoughts and emotions, but I finally put it down on paper. Forever loving ya and will always be here, oxoxo- _____.

Ahh, so good to hear from my other Gandhi loving yogi, you would so appreciate the meditations I’ve been sending your way, I invite you to be open and welcome them in as they are sent! That is something new I’ve learned this break in yoga, learn to invite emotions, awareness of body, mind and soul to myself.

And also, Happy New Year beautiful! Get ready for a year full of adventure, challenges, new comings and happiness; iI know these all seem very unachievable, and I am here to tell you they are not. I am going to try to make this short, but I just know it’s not going to end up like that. So to begin, I want you to know I really am happy to hear from you. I ask pay for updates every so often just to ensure that my other lovie is surviving. First of all, I want you to know that I love you so incredibly much. I love the fun, yogi, self less, positive, rainbow living world you. But I also love the heart broken, confused, searching, and surviving you. This is where you get me wrong, I love you, not the way you make me feel or others, the way you look or act, I love the person you are and the person you are to become.

I will always love you as you are, whatever that might be. I will still be here, I will still be me, and I wont ever give up on you. Secondly, thank you for sharing all of that with me. It takes a lot to put everything on paper (or in our world computer screen), it causes a lot of emotions to unfold, I know that because I do that all the time. I also want you to know I won’t ever see you as weak-I know that’s one of the reasons you didn’t want to talk to me, and I apologize for that. The thing is, I’ve been so weak, so weak I didn’t know how to look straight, I didn’t know what I wanted or why I did the things I did. Quite frankly, 2015 brought on the worst year of my life.

And if you are thinking my weak isn’t very weak, think twice, one of my best skills is showing my straight bitch face and bad ass loving attitude, yet hiding my real struggles, because boy is that so much harder to face. I want you to know being weak, it’s not something that should come with a negative connotation.

Feeling weak, its living babe.

I use to think showing weakness or fluctuations in feelings was a sign of being psychotic, but its actually just a sign that you finally are living life, not just experiencing it or going through the motions. This is living, and this is finding yourself. You aren’t suppose to have your life together right now, you aren’t suppose to have your story already written, its a journey, and along the way you will alter yourself, you will change, and most importantly you will grow. This is living, feeling, breathing, struggling, and fighting. Now there is something you need to face, this isn’t like a college friendship, this wasn’t one of those nice to meet ya see ya around friendships, you’re one of my people, you’re family, and that means ill be around to see wherever life takes you. Whether its in Athens, good ole Cumming, or Africa. Hell I don’t care where it is, ____, ______, and I will always be family, and I wanna know all about wherever it is that life takes you. Next step, I’m sorry you have had to go through this without us by your side, and I also understand that’s just how you might have to because that’s how you need to move on and grow, and I hope you know its ok if that’s how.

Its gonna suck, its gonna suck real bad, but yes, life is going to fucking suck.

And yes, ending it right away will end all the problems you are currently facing, but no it will not bring you peace, it will not fix your problems, and you won’t get to look back and see how far you have come, and how proud of yourself you are for getting through it. There’s one thing that you can never let die in your heart, hope. It’s the one thing that’s keeping you here now, subconsciously our minds fault back into always believing what we were taught as a perfect world we will one day reach. And you will, if you hang there, fight for your life, fucking fight like you never have, and you’ll reach a state of peace one day, but that takes a lot of work, heartache, time, and hell of a lot of hope for the future. You are more than what you see, more than what you hear, you are more than what you think, and you are worthy of life, love, and happiness. You are worthy. This day, January 1, 2016, was brought to begin 365 days of life not yet lived, life not yet experienced, and the life unknown. Everything behind us has happened, all the shit we wish was just a memory and not a still feeling. But it is in the past. January 1, 2016 brought us a 365 blank page book, and this year is going to be a good one. I never said easy, I never said happy all the time, but its gonna be one you look back on, reading your book, and think “damn girl, you did it.” You can do this, and I wanna be your pen pal to wherever life takes you, whenever it takes you.

You have a blank book, write your story. Life isn’t about the title of job you hold, the family you have, the things you’ve experienced, its about finding and creating who you are and what you want to be in this life. It took me so long to finally learn that, but I finally did. Nothing in this world leaves this earth with you besides your soul, make it beautiful. Hold your head high darling, you are worth it. The light in me, sees the light in you, namaste bitch, and happy new year <3

(Written by Nkenna Njoku)

Whoever said “Time heals all wounds” had obviously never met my brother.

It’s been over a year and I’m still learning how to do this crazy life thing without my best friend and little brother. Whenever something good or bad happens I always want to run next door to his room, text or call call him just to hear some uplifting words or hear his reaction.

The best way to summarize this whole situation is with 3 words, “It takes time.”

There are five stages of grief. In the last 19 months I’ve fluctuated constantly, sometimes on a daily basis between all five.

Denial

This stage seems to come most frequently. When I first got the news I refused to believe it. I was confused and tried to block out all the things I was being told. At one point I called his phone multiple times just to try and prove everyone wrong when he answered.

And the weeks passed. Denial would come in the form of waking up and forgetting that anything had ever happened and having to relive the situation all over.

More recently denial has been simple; whenever I feel myself getting sad I tell myself that my brother is on a long beautiful vacation, and I’ll see him someday soon.

Anger

Anger was simple. I felt an anger that I had never felt before. I was angry with anybody and anything involved.

“Why did this have to happen to my brother when there are terrible people committing heinous crimes and walking around freely??” “Why didn’t they help him?” “ How can they claim to be his ‘friends’ but nobody can seem to explain what really happened?” “Why did they invite him to such a place? “What if he had been somewhere else with other people?” “WHY, God?”

It was the type of anger where all you can do is cry and feel defeated because you know that there is nothing that you can do within your power to change the outcome of the situation. Anger because you don’t have answers.

For months I felt like a time bomb that could explode at any moment. People around me would use certain trigger words and phrases like “drown”, or “I’m dead” and it took everything in me to refrain from 1) bursting into tears and 2) giving them a verbal tongue lashing about their poor selection of words.

Bargaining

Bargaining came in the form of me constantly begging during my morning and nightly prayers. “Please God, I will never sin again, I will always be kind, I will never stray from you again, if you just let this all be a dream.”

But every morning following those evening prayers I would wake up and the outcome would still be the same. I was stuck with this new reality and there was nothing I could do about it. Even when I saw my brother for the last time I thought, “well maybe if I just hug him or hold his hand he’ll wake up and make a joke.”

Depression

I got to a point in my depression where I selfishly thought that dying would be much better than living because at least then I would be able to hang out with my brother. Dying was the perfect option. Feeling nothing was better than hurting every minute of every day.

If I died I wouldn’t have to be in constant pain. There would be no bills to worry about, no people to deal with, and most importantly, I wouldn’t struggle with telling myself every morning “just make it through the day.”

It was then that I also got to a point where I questioned my faith. There were many days where I would just be sitting in my room for hours crying and wanting to feel something other than pain and crying out to God, “If you are a merciful and good God why would you allow me to feel this kind of pain? why would you kill my brother?”

3 weeks after my brother’s accident I went back to school and resumed my adult responsibilities the best I knew how. The same week that I resumed class and work, I also celebrated my 21st birthday.

The morning of my birthday I rummaged through some old letters on my desk and found the birthday card my brother had sent me for my 20th birthday. I sat there staring at it, rereading it, and just pictured him singing “Happy Birthday” and a warm hug from him. It wasn’t right. I told myself that I wasn’t allowed to enjoy that day or any other holiday for that matter.

Initially I didn’t make any plans and had no expectations for my birthday, but with the help of an amazing teammate, Tunya, and even better friend I had the best birthday given the circumstances. Although I found myself doing what some would consider enjoyable I still found myself wanting to cry and thinking “I wish my brother was here so I could be happy again, I shouldn’t be having fun without him.”

During summer session I would sit in class struggling to take notes because I could barely see through my tears. Many days I just wanted to be left alone, in the darkness, to just grieve in peace without being asked ‘when are you going to go back to “normal?’” or being interrogated about the whole situation and having to relive the emotions from when I first found out.

I often found myself laying wide awake at night pacing up and down in my room. And when I was fortunate enough to get a few minutes of sleep I found myself quickly woken by a nightmare.

The hardest days were the ones when I woke up unable to discern between reality and dreams and found myself reliving the horror midway through dialing his phone number, sending a text, or logging on to any social media outlet and seeing the numerous “I’m sorry for your loss” posts.

As always, time went on and I adapted to school and this new life. Just when I thought I was making small progress, I was inundated with thoughts of the future. I realized that my brother would not be there for many milestones.

-My brother will never see me graduate from college

-My brother will never see me get married.

-I won’t be able to celebrate any more birthdays with my brother

-My children will never get to meet their Uncle Vince

Graduation seemed to be the hardest to come to terms with because it was the most meaningful and was happening in the very near future. Graduation was also just 4 days shy of Vince’s accident, so I knew my emotions would be running high.

The afternoon before graduation I found myself sitting in Rooker Hall with 2 of my teammates reflecting on the last few years and our plans for the future. I expressed to them my disappointment that my brother would not be there the following evening witnessing my commencement ceremony. My teammate Sarah said to me “Just because he’s not here doesn’t mean he didn’t get the invite. He’s going to have the best seat in the stadium.”

It was then that I knew that it was ok to move on with my life and no longer feel guilty for having fun or achieving wonderful things without my brother because he was always there with me, in my heart.

Acceptance

There were and still are so many unanswered questions. The lack of closure is what kept me up at night or kept me from focusing in class.

For a long time I thought that having an answer or just having someone to blame would make me feel better. It came to a point where I had to silence my thoughts and say, “ok Lord, I don’t understand at all what you’re doing but I trust you.”

I also had to tell myself two things:

that all those questions didn’t matter

even if I had the answers to all my questions would it put my heart and mind at ease? Honestly, probably not.

We live in a death fearing society. I think it is foolish for any of us to deny death or think that we are immune from death.

One thing that I have learned in the last 19 months, although cliche, is that life is short and anything can happen at any time, whether you are ready or not. I have learned to take things at face value and always embrace people with constant, unconditional, and selfless love. I had no desire to learn how to live without my brother, but I had to because life continues whether you’re ready or not.

You can learn how to live without someone, even your best friend. It won’t be easy, and it’s going to take some time, a long time honestly, but you can do it. Just remember that small progress is still progress. Never let anyone tell you how long you should grieve for, it’s a process and it takes time.

One thing that settles my heart is knowing that however many remaining years I have to spend on this Earth without my brother pales in comparison to an eternity in God’s kingdom. Until then I just have to remind myself he is on a beautiful long vacation.

I can’t wait for the day we can pretend we have our own cooking show again, or he can jump out from behind the tree in the front yard and spray me with his water gun when I’m running, or Saturday morning cleaning and taking breaks to have a sing or dance off. But most importantly I can’t wait for the day Vince can give me a long hug.

A wise man told me this year “Quality of life is not measured by quantity of life.” Vince taught me so much and did so much in just 19 years. He was the kid that loved to run drills in the backyard and put in the extra work even in the off season. He was also the kid that loved to volunteer with Hands on Atlanta on the weekends to build homes for families in need.

God gave me 19 years with my best friend and I will cherish them until I take my last breath on this earth because they were the best. We used to do EVERYTHING together. We had so many jokes we basically spoke a different language. Some nights we would stay up all night just being goofy and talking about the most random things.

This whole situation is so surreal. The only thing Vince hated more than tomatoes and brussel sprouts was seeing me cry and wallow in sadness.

I still don’t understand why this all happened but I do know that God has used this situation to soften my heart. I am learning to love and serve the Lord the way my brother did.

My brother would not only want me to be happy but he would want to be helping others and spreading Christ’s love. Time doesn’t heal all wounds, but with time you learn how to cope and be at peace, not in pieces.

My brother was my best friend, and he will always and forever be my best friend.

We live in a small world where we must learn how to play with the cards we are dealt. Everything is part of a bigger picture and the slightest detail can make the biggest difference. Life is chaotic, confusing, and challenging, but that is part of what makes it beautiful and worth living: it is a beautiful disaster.

We ask ourselves why bad things happen to good people; we wonder why life is unfair. We live in a world with natural disasters, poverty, world hunger, war, and crime. Negativity surrounds us, but without it, we would not know what positivity is. How would we appreciate sunny skies without a little rain? If it never rained, then partly cloudy would be less than perfect.

Life is not perfect—everything needs a balance between the good and the bad—and sometimes, things are out of our control, but we must accept them for what they are and move forward. Learn how to play the cards life has dealt you.

I am still learning how to play, and I am doing the best I can. That is all we can do: our best. We all face different obstacles, some worse than others, but we are still living in the same hell just with different demons. One of my demons is depression.

Mental illness does not go away overnight. It is an everyday struggle consisting of medication, doctors, therapists, and yourself. You are your toughest critic, worst enemy, and the one person you cannot avoid. It is easier to fake a smile and pretend like everything is fine than to admit to others, sometimes even yourself, what is consuming you inside.

Depression feels like you are drowning: you see how close you are to the surface, but you still cannot come up for air.

You are falling apart inside with no way out. You become a different person and you miss who you used to be. You look at old pictures and wonder where that happy person went—you feel lost. Asking myself why this was happening to me did not help. Saying life is unfair did not help. Sulking in my sorrows did not get me anywhere. I felt hopeless, but thankfully I had someone who saved me from myself. He changed my perspective and brought sunshine into the storm clouds in my head. His name was Pablo; may he rest in peace.

Pablo was one of the greatest friends I ever had; he was an incredible person always full of joy—always lending a helping hand. He kept me centered. He always reminded me to count my blessings instead of my problems; he always gave the best advice.

He taught me how to see the negatives as blessings in disguises. Life is a learning experience and everything happens for a reason. It is hard to understand what that reason is, but I believe life is not meant to be understood. There is not a survival guide to life; life is not black and white—it is grey.

Perspective is everything: “some people look at sunsets as the end of something beautiful that once was: the day. Others see it as simply a new beginning to a different, but equally beautiful, thing: the night.” The day I understood everything was the day I stopped trying to figure everything out.

The day I knew peace was the day I let everything go—I let it all go.

My situation became irrelevant when I saw it as a potential blessing, as a learning experience, as an opportunity to better myself. I changed my perspective and I changed my situation. Everything happens for a reason, and like Douglas Adams put it: “I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I [know] I have ended up where I needed to be.” I learned how to play the cards I was dealt with.

Stop focusing on the negatives and become the best version of yourself. Learn to appreciate what you have and make the best of it. Strive for excellence and never get discouraged by the journey because you are capable of doing anything you set your mind too.