Life is an art. An art of all mediums, colors, and textures. An art of all emotions, feelings, and expressions. Someone’s art could be boring, others exciting, and some so small you’d think they had no life at all. Mine’s was.... different. It had shades of depressing purple and black, but also bright and inviting shades of orange and yellow. Parts of it were as smooth as silk, and parts of it were as jagged as sandpaper. My life was exciting, interesting, and fun, but it was also sad, depressing, and tragic. But it got better. It always gets better.  Sadly, though, not everyone understands that. It is not the question of the capacity of one’s mind, but rather the mental state that it currently resides within. A mentally unstable person is not dumb, but neither is a mentally stable person smart. Because we have no idea what someone’s mental state is, we can never assess someone’s intelligence or personality fully. It’s virtually impossible.

But what if everyone was mentally stable? What if we had a world where everyone was happy, all the time, where no insults or malicious rumors existed? Now I know a world like that would not exist. In fact, I experienced it first hand. But in my grace period in my childhood was where everything was paradise for me. Then again, wouldn’t nearly every six year old think their life is paradise? It is only the disappointment we experience later when we realize it’s not all fun and games.

Who could forget the never tiring game of hide and seek where I hid among the cherry blossoms while my sister tried to find me? Who could forget the family picnics where while my parents enjoyed the cool summer breeze, my sister and I played in the meadow, the tall grass tickling our feet? My life then was paradise. I was always wearing an untiring warm smile on my face, optimistic and positive about everything. I learned that if someone tried to dampen my spirits, I would just keep in my agony and move on. I wouldn’t confront them. No matter how happy I was, I never had the strength to confront people. Perhaps that’s what just made my depression worse. If I couldn’t get back up when I was pushed down, then how could I protect myself? I was equivalent to an elephant without an immune system. But I should’ve known that life can never always be perfect. It can just never happen.

I had my fair share of time in my dreamland. Everyone was there with me: my mom, dad, and sister. I was ten then, an age where I was only barely familiar with the conception that you lost things and gained things in life, and that some things were harder to lose than others. But that time, at that tender, progressive age, was where I was hit the hardest.

My family lost my sister to a form of multiple myeloma, a deadly cancer with no cure and no hope. She was always smiling, even at her final breath. After her tedious chemotherapy sessions, instead of sleeping she would call me to her side and talk about all the great things I should do after she dies. “Your life is not over just because I’m gone, Amanda. I’ll always be in you, guiding you. Don’t be scared,” she would say. I wanted to believe her. I really did. But a little voice in my head kept me in reality that said no, it wouldn’t be okay. Everything would fall to pieces after she died.

On the day of her death, she gave me a gift- her favorite floral dress she bought with her first paycheck. It was smooth and it smelled like her favorite perfume. “Don’t fret, Amanda. I’m here. I’m here for you-” and then she fell. Her smile, what was there one instant, disappeared the next. The line on the monitor was flat and horizontal. She was dead. My sister was dead. And for the first time, I felt what it was like to watch your loved one die. And I was positively terrified of it.

If I thought my parents would be even the slightest supportive through this hard time, they weren’t. My parents' irritation and anger towards me escalated into abuse. My life always looked like a barren desert, within which I thought I had no one to turn to or talk to. I was hopeless and helpless.

               I was starting to get reclusive at school. First, it started with excluding myself from any plans. Next, I talked to them less. After that, I even stopped giving them e