If You Can, Hold On

If You Can, Hold On

By Miranda Soares

(TW: Suicidal ideation, bullying, abuse references, self-harm, depression, anxiety, paranoia)

Walking down a dark hallway with no end in sight. No doors, no windows, just enough light to see where you’re going. There is nothing. Just emptiness. You can’t turn around. There is nothing behind you. More darkness. The hallway has no visible finish. You just keep walking and walking. You have no other choice. Everything is dark and everything is cold. There could be monsters lurking in the shadows. You don’t know. You just hurt. You just hurt so bad, you have to walk on and on and on…

***

There have been three great pains in my life. The first time I was 6 years old. The second time I was 10. Now I am 19. Every time I thought it was the last. But then again, every time I thought there was only one way out, but the first two times I found a door. Now I am looking for a door. 

When I was 6, well, let’s just call it the wrong place at the wrong time. I remembered a few years ago. As a kid that young, how do you tell your parents you're depressed and wanna die? You don’t because you don’t even know that’s what’s happening. You just know that every night you go to sleep hoping you won’t wake up the next day, and every day your parents yell at you because you cry too much and you're afraid of everything. The kicker is, you don’t even know why this is happening. And when you remember about a decade later, you have nightmares and wake up crying and wondering, “Why me? I didn’t do anything.”

At 10 I was severely bullied. Like I felt genuinely unsafe at school. But no one listens to you when you’re 10. No one takes a 10-year-old seriously when they say they’re scared because a girl in their class tells them everything they do is wrong and that everyone hates them. When that girl gives them trust issues and paranoia that lasts a lifetime, no one can know. Because 10-year-olds are little kids. They can’t be that mean or that affected. “You’ll laugh about this in a few years.” But nearly a decade later, you’re still haunted by the memories and still wonder if everyone secretly hates you and is out to get you. 

So twice in your life, you walk down that dark hallway with no end in sight. But both times, at some point between stealing one of your dad’s razors and crying yourself to sleep, by some miracle, you find a door. A singular door slightly illuminated in the dark, never-ending hallway. And when you open it, everything is okay. Or as okay as it can be. You find relief, a place to rest a bit for what you hope is the rest of your life. But somehow you keep ending up in that hallway. And each time, the door is harder to find. By the third time, you’re pretty sure you’ve used up all your “get out of the hallway free” cards. 

19. What a shitty, shitty age. Who would’ve guessed? 19 sounds so fun. So cool. I remember a couple months ago when I turned 19. Before everything. I was so excited. I told everyone how happy I was because 19 seemed like such a milestone age. To me at least. And maybe it is a milestone age. If the milestone is antidepressants, painkillers, and alcohol. If the milestone is praying to anything that will listen to send you into a coma indefinitely. And after a week of crying so hard you almost throw up, none of your friends or family wanna hear it anymore so you have to pretend you’re all better. One week was all you got. Because anything more is absurd. It’s not that big a deal. Boys come and go. To be that affected over a breakup, something everyone goes through, it’s just insane. It’s psychotic. Sending countless emails and messages on any platform you haven’t already been blocked from, begging for something, anything, is deranged. 

So no one can know. You cry quietly after dark, smothering the sound with a pillow. You put on a smile at work and talk shit about him with your friends. You agree politely with your parents when they laugh and tell you that no one ends up with their first love anyway. Meanwhile, on the inside, you're stuck in that never-ending hallway. 

Every morning and every night you take more than the recommended dose of ibuprofen. Not nearly enough because some part of you still hopes the door will appear, but just enough that there is a possibility the morning never comes. You wash it down with any alcohol you can get your hands on. You were one of those kids who claimed they’d never drink. Now you toe the line of alcoholism. You still take the antidepressants you were prescribed, but you only do it because it increases the risk of liver failure. And multiple times a day you email him hoping he’ll somehow change his mind, but it’s been a month and even though he held no resentment towards you when it ended, now he and all his friends hate your guts and think you’re psychotic, and you know what, you probably are. The harassment charge is probably right around the corner. But life in that hallway is so cold and painful, you don’t care. You’ll do anything to find a door, even though a part of you knows you’re actively destroying every door before it comes. 

This time is different. Before I wanted to disappear because it hurt too much. But I held on and kept walking because somewhere deep down I knew there was a possibility for a brighter future. A door that led to solace. Now I want to disappear because I don’t believe there is a brighter future. He changed the trajectory of my life forever. There is nothing I look forward to anymore. Everyone around me has moved on. I am stuck in a career path I only tolerate. I am everything that girl said I was when I was 10. I deserved every bad thing that has happened to me. I am a truly disgusting person. If someone could know all my dirty little secrets, everything about me that no one else did, that I wouldn’t dare tell anyone else, and yet love me more than anything despite that, then life wouldn't be so bad. Because I knew that whatever happened, someone would always be in my corner. Yes, I was damaged, but there was hope. But he couldn’t take it anymore. I was too much. He let go. I am a truly disgusting person. No one could know my full self, all the ugly, see me go through the bad times, and still love me.

I have to hide parts of myself from everyone. But I didn’t have to with him. I guess I should’ve. No one could ever truly love every part of me. She was right. We were only 10 years old, but she was right. Somehow she knew the truth about me. I am a truly disgusting person. 

The hallway never ends. There is no door this time. You can pray to anything you want. You can watch “powerful” manifestation videos, you can buy a million crystals, you can do as many tarot card readings as you can afford, but the hallway will forever be dark. You have no more pride left. Coward. A sick coward. If you were brave, if you had any spine, you’d keep thriving and working towards being your “best self”. You convince yourself that is what you’re doing because every now and again, you think you see a light. But every time you’re wrong. You’re still a coward. You shouldn’t be covering tissues in blood and having to wear high-waisted pants to hide the damage you and your disgusting self did. You should make your own door, you shouldn’t be begging someone else to present it to you. But you’re a filthy coward. You disgust me. 

There is a monster in the shadows. The monster is you. 

***

I’d run away, use my savings, and catch the next flight to nowhere. I’m not afraid to disappear. I’ll probably die in that hallway anyway. May as well let her take me somewhere nicer. I always figured I’d either die by her hand or cancer. There was never another option. But I can’t disappear. Not yet at least. She needs me. 

We talk sometimes in hushed tones after dark and giggle like little girls. It’s nice you know, sometimes. Mostly we cry though. She spends most of her days angry at the universe for everything. I wish I could make her understand that things will be okay. They aren’t as bad as they seem. There is hope to be had. But she rarely believes me anymore. 

To her, there is only the here and now. If she hurts this much now, she always will. I try to distract her with songs and shows. I try to call her friends, get her to go out and do something fun. But it’s hard. It’s so hard. She just wants to sit in bed and rot half the time. I tell her to focus on her job and preparing for school, and sometimes she does, but her mind always wanders back to the hallway. I wish I could take away her pain. 

Sometimes I want to scream at her so loud. Sometimes I want to hurt her, sometimes I do. Sometimes I want to drown her. End us both. But I can’t. I see in her so much more than she’ll ever know. It’s so hard, it’s like trudging through quicksand. But nothing can stop me. I’d do anything to keep her safe. 

Up until this past year, I used to tell people my biggest fear was the dark. It’s not. My biggest fear is losing her, and well, everything. I’m afraid of everything. But without me, I don’t know if she’ll be able to keep going. So as much as I wanna give in to the darkness, let the hallway swallow me up, I have to stay strong for her sake. I can’t let her know I fear even more than she does. Because even though she calls me a coward, I know she’s just projecting. But in part, she’s right. It doesn’t matter though. If I let myself fade away, I don’t even wanna think about what’ll happen to her. 

I may be a monster, but I’m her monster and she needs me. She calls me a coward, she tells me I’m a truly disgusting person. But I know she doesn’t mean it. She’s cruel because she’s in pain and when people are in pain, they always want someone to blame. I’ll get her out of the hallway if it’s the last thing I do. No matter how I have to do it, no matter what she calls me or does to me. I’ve saved her twice before, I can do it again. 

Sometimes when we’re afraid, we just wanna lie down for a while. Walking down that hallway feels impossible. It feels like the darkness will never end. But as long as you can, you have to hold on. Hold on to something, to someone, to anything. Hold on to nothing if you have to. As long as you’re holding on. Because once you let go, there’s no going back. 

Not everyone is so lucky, but as long as she has me, she’ll always have something to hold on to. And I’ll never let her forget, if you can, hold on.