Alright, I’m no Carrie Bradshaw- er, Candace Bushnell; but I think of love a-lot differently than I used too. So I’m going to write about it. One whole year of my life I felt as though a chunk of me was missing. I couldn’t decide where it was located, or where it had gone. My original idea was that it was my heart. A chunk of my heart just fell out and was floating somewhere inside me. Or maybe it just disappeared. And then I started fearing that it was my brain, my mind. Maybe I was losing my mind and none of this was really real. It shouldn’t be after all, I was only 18 going on 19. I was young, too young to be feeling anything but gaiety and expecting a future that’s mostly just in my dreams. I was in a world full of people and I felt no one truly understood. Because, I didn’t understand. I still think I am too young to understand what had happened to me. When you get so distraught that letters written in a book hurt you to look at, and you don’t want to fall asleep because your life is already a full blown nightmare. Literally everything made your stomach hurt. No one’s words would help. To this day, I cannot find out why God chose me to be the one who suffered for so long. Wanting to end my life because of what- a boy? That’s not me. That’s not us. Not who we should be. After endless praying and countless arguments, my advice to those who feel like their hearts are crumbling, or you can’t figure out why you’re so paranoid, is that no one else will be able to help you. Yeah, sucks. Only you yourself can bring you back. As my iPad lock screen says to me everyday, “sometimes the world doesn’t give you what you want, not because you don’t deserve it, but because you deserve better.” The worlds not against you, you are against you. And only you can fix it.