I always found it interesting how people always write about the people that they would like to understand. They study certain people in certain circumstances because they want to understand them and then write about their research. That doesn´t necessarily mean they come to understand them. They may understand the why, but without understanding the what, it is difficult to really help because they are void of empathy. When people tell me that they have “been there” or that they “understand” me, they say it with so little feeling that I never really believe them and I want proof. Few people really know what it feels like because many people that want to die do just that. The people that understand us and are actually here are few or are little interested in giving us hope because they no longer believe in it. I am writing this to give hope. This is my proof—from where it all started to where it was ending and all the roller-coaster ups and downs in between. This is not me going down memory lane and writing about what I remember, yet they are my memories themselves—the things I wrote in those dark years in a desperate attempt to keep myself sane. This is no math test, but sometimes if we just refuse to sink for a little bit longer, we come to realize that not only is this not the end but may very well actually be the beginning.