Finding my way home.

Content Warning: True story about grief, family pain, and healing. That evening my aunt told me to go home and sleep. I was scared to sleep alone, so I went to my grandmother's house instead. The next day we got the news. My uncle Justin had passed away by suicide. He was found at home. He was my rock. My home. I never thought something so tragic would happen to me. I started to feel guilty. I thought maybe if I had gone home that night, I could have stopped it. That feeling has followed me since. This is how I experienced grief, even if no one saw it. I was left with so many pieces. I didn't know how to fix them. Since he passed, nothing felt the same. I felt lonely and isolated. I experienced severe depression and anxiety. I tried to be perfect. I tried to be the one who doesn't mess up, hoping someone would finally say they are proud of me. I got lost trying. My family said hurtful things. That I was not his child, that I was unnecessary, jealous. No one stood up for me. I started to isolate myself and I stopped going to church. I didn't want to worry my grandmother, so I kept everything to myself. I dealt with rejection on my own. But I am still here. And I am still writing.