I like helping people.
I really like helping people.
So when I get upset, I don't tell people.
Because then they won't come and tell me what's wrong for them.
So therefore I don't get support.
Therefore I isolate myself.
Therefore I get more upset.
Therefore I cry.
Therefore I cut.

I don't know what to do about this.
Somebody just help me.

There is always going to be something in your way. You just have to push and hope it will budge. And don't be afraid to ask for a couple supporters.

In December, he turns eighteen.

He wants to take me on a date and take me to senior prom.

He loves my curly hair.

He likes my comfortable jeans.

He wants to know about my hats.

I know what he wants his career to be and support it, just as he does to me.

He likes my legal name, whereas I despise it.

He apreciates my natural hair while I can't stand it.

We can talk about Harry Potter, have debates on the subject, and not feel like total geeks.

He likes drama and theatre just as much as I do.

But, he is turning eighteen in December.

Three years apart from me.

He will go to college before me.

He'll meet another girl there...

"I'm taking you to prom with me."

"Well, I'm sure you have a lot of senior friends, why not take them?"

"Because I might like my sophmore friend better."