Help Me Believe

Chapter 1: The Smoke and the Silence

Dear Journal,

Tonight was loud.

The kind of loud that drowns out everything—thoughts, memories, even pain. The music was so heavy it felt like it was stitched into my skin. Bass thumping like a second heartbeat. Lights flashing like they were trying to blind me from the truth.

People were everywhere. Laughing too hard. Dancing too close. Drinking too much. I was one of them. I guess. Blending in. Floating through the noise like a ghost in glitter.

I had a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other. I don’t even remember what it was—vodka, maybe? Something sweet and cheap. It burned going down, but I liked it. It made me feel something. Or maybe it helped me feel nothing. I’m not sure which is worse.

I danced. I smiled. I flirted. I pretended.

That’s what I’m good at—pretending. Pretending I’m okay. Pretending I’m not scared. Pretending I didn’t hear the window shatter last week when someone tried to break into our house. Pretending I didn’t cry myself to sleep after checking every lock twice.

I didn’t tell anyone. Who would I tell? I don’t have a Clyde. I don’t have a protector. Just me. Just this music. Just this smoke. Just this aching need to disappear without leaving.

I keep wondering if God sees me. If He’s real. If He’s watching me destroy myself one party at a time. I don’t know why I keep doing this. Maybe I’m waiting for someone to stop me. Maybe I’m hoping He will.

I don’t feel safe anymore. Not in my house. Not in my skin. Not even in my own mind. I feel like I’m unraveling, thread by thread, and no one notices. Or maybe they do, and they just don’t care.

I wish someone would ask me if I’m okay and actually mean it. Not the casual “how are you?” tossed between shots and smoke. I mean really ask. Look me in the eyes and wait for the truth.

I wish I could say yes.

But tonight, I danced. I drank. I smoked. And I smiled like nothing was wrong.

I laughed louder than I felt. I wore my pain like perfume—strong enough to distract, sweet enough to hide.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel different.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll believe.

Love,

Faith