I'll be okay.

Prologue.

Hospitals. From a young age I've hated them. I think it's the clinical feel of everything or the cleanliness that doesn't make sense to me. How can a place filled with so much death and illness look that clean? I know that some people have to stay for months on end. I'd hate that. They probably do too, which is why they have all my pity. My Dad happens to be one of them people. The ones who never seem to leave and even though I should probably be thinking and praying for him, all I can think about is how clean the tiles are. I sometimes think myself a terrible daughter, but really it's just my way of trying to forget. The last few months have been hard, for my Dad and my Mum especially. Me however? I'm just coasting along, pretending to be happy but hurting inside. And by hurting inside, I mean serious hurting. My heart is always aching for the past, my head always working and ticking for a solution of a problem that doesn't involve me. My eyes sore from the tears that never stop. My lungs pained from the heavy breathing I do when I become mad. My stomach empty, without a proper meal for two months. But it's my fingers that have suffered the most. The punching of walls, biting of nails, gripping onto the edge of tables in an attempt to remain sane in the midst of discovering bad news. I'm a broken person, empty and full to the brink with saddened and aggressive thoughts at the same time. I want to remain silent and scream louder than I ever have before all at once. It's a battleground that is going on inside me, but to the world I'm composed and happy. If only they knew that life has reached its lowest point. That I'm stuck inside a pit of sorrow and misery. That I need someone to help me escape this prison of entrapment and depression. That I need aid more than I've never needed anything in my life. Yes, my Dad is struggling. And yes, I'm not the only one. But I am weak and need to be strong again. It's hard to be brave when your broken inside. I know that now.
I have no idea who you are or what your morals are, but I have one desperate plea. I need you more than anything. I need you to listen to what I have to say. I need you to help.  Because help is what I need.