Gone.

I haven't been on this site in a a long time. Two years in fact. I've grown a lot and am quite frankly shocked at half of what I wrote on here. I was certainly crying out for help and support. And I received it, but not in the usual way. I went to New York and found myself in the dirty streets and muraled walls down on Jamaica Avenue, in the gutters of Manhattan. I went to Las Vegas and blinded myself from the pain on Freemont by staring to hard into the Golden Nuggets lights. I went through High School and drowned out the abuse out on the field with my Marching Band. People meet me out on the streets and say they would've never known that I tried to kill myself back in the tenth grade if I hadn't told them. I hide it well. Not all wounds are visible. PTSD is a real thing. And I've learned a lot about myself in two years, and one of the most important things I learned was that the past is merely the past.