JUST FOR YOU

My school’s online newspaper recently wrote an article on my blog and my struggles throughout school and how I have overcome them. Raider Wire Journalist, Julie, came to my Chamber Choir during lunch about a month ago and gathered insight on my personality and on my blog. I was very nervous in my interview because I, although am a very chatty and personable person, I get very nervous in social situation. “So Josh, why do you write? Who do you write for? What inspired me to write?” I sat there and stumbled over my words. I wanted this article to be wonderful. Not only for me. but for Julie. I wanted this wondrous person to have her talents and inner beauty shine. I thought about my answers after the interview and I realized… I don’t write for me. I don’t write for my family. I don’t write for my happy friends. I write for those holding on to a wire that is rusty and cracking.  I write for those how stare at a revolver every night telling themselves to pull the trigger. I write for those who stare into the depths of a toilet bowl after every meal. I write for those who are like me. I write for those who don’t think they can hold on anymore. Whether one person reads my posts or a million do. I desire nothing more than to help YOU. That one reader that can relate to me. I write for you. Just for you. This is for you. Hold on tight my dear, we can make it through.

A few thousand reads later, I feel like my blog had been relatively successful. Is it the top read on word press? No. And although that is a dream of mine, right now, I am perfectly content with my small following. The loyal readers. The friends who read every post I write. The mentors I’ve had who’ve told me I’ve made my story into something. I love my base of readers. I love my blog. I love you all.

Sometimes in my darkest hours in the middle of the night, I wonder who would miss me if I died. Would people come to my funeral? Would I be remembered? If so, what would I be remembered for? My voice? My laugh? My looks? My intelligence? I Then begin to hate myself, because I talk myself out of believing that I am talented, funny, smart, attractive. I find myself in my old positions. Sitting on the ground, crying myself to sleep. Wondering if one little cut would really make a difference on my wrists. I snap out of it. My face is hot and hard from sobbing. I am okay. I am alive.  I remember that although I occasionally feel worthless, I’ve inspired someone. I inspired the journalism class to write an online article about me. So if anything… Julie, this is for you. My fight is for you. I am fighting for you. I will never stop fighting for my happiness and for you. We can do this.

So if you’re reading this, holding your wrists, your stomach, you pill bottle, or you’re next to you’re scale. If you feel like you can’t make it. I am here. And this is Just For You.