"I look in the mirror and I see a stranger."

Nicole Easterwood, age 20. Ohatchee, Alabama

I can feel the heaviness again.
I am driving down the road
at ninety to nothing,
flooring it so I can get home,
so I don’t have to do this
in the middle of the road
alone.
My sister’s there.
She knows what to do,
what to say to me
to make me begin
to calm down.
Even if I don’t tell her
what’s going on.
There is nothing here,
but blackness
and my mind
is pacing back and forth.
I keep trying to figure out
what triggered it this time
so I can know not to do
whatever it was again.
But each time
it’s something different.
Each time the “thing”
that makes me feel like I am
losing
control
changes.
I can’t pinpoint anything anymore.
I can’t figure out what it is this time.
All I can see
when I turn around
each corner is
fail,
Fail,
FAIL.
Like nothing I’m doing matters
and the sea of brackish water
is consuming my lungs
when I am mute.
Like all it would take
to make all of the tension
and pulsating stop would be
making a stop by “Blunt Guy’s” house.
I could waste away
into the pot
and the alcohol and,
for a little while,
I wouldn’t feel like
I was dying.
The offer is
so tempting.
Then I think of Jake
and my mentor and
what they would think of me
if they knew all of this,
but I can’t take all of it anymore.
I look in the mirror
and I see a stranger,
someone who
could not possibly be Nicole,
someone who should not still
be here in this town,
someone who should
be gone by now.
And Jo is the only one
who really understands
that I can’t be
in this house anymore.
That even driving is a task
and my chest is still heavy
and stomach churning
as I pull in the driveway
and try to breathe,
breathe,
breathe.

"The knowledge that I’m not alone helped me find balance."

Amber McLain, age 18. Michigan

Panic rises and grips my throat, my heart. I feel like death has his arms around me, waiting for just the right moment to move his hands around my neck. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Why does no one understand that? Can no one understand what’s going on? I’m too shy to ask for help, but is it really not obvious? Mom, dad, sisters one, two and three – do you not see how much I’m suffering? No one understands, until…a book. A book gives me hope. Many books, actually. They help me realize that what’s wrong isn’t that I’m crazy; what’s wrong is that I’m depressed; I might very well have panic disorder. This is oddly calming; just knowing that I am not alone in this struggle helps. I don’t feel as bad, don’t feel the need to hide, don’t self-medicate. The knowledge that I’m not alone helped me find balance.

Ned Vizzini and It's Kind of a Funny Story

I am so excited to be posting this next submission. It's from friend and fellow young adult author, Ned Vizzini. His most recent novel, It's Kind of a Funny Story, was adapted as a film and hits theaters across the country TOMORROW (10/8/10)!

Read more about the film and its outstanding cast here. And more about Ned and his infinite awesomeness here. Finally, Ned and I will be doing a reading together on 10/26/10 at Barnes & Noble in Park Slope, Brooklyn at 7pm.

Ned Vizzini, age 29. Los Angeles, CA.

"When I went into a psychiatric hospital for a week-long stay for depression and 'suicidal ideation' in November 2004, I found myself with a lot of time on my hands. Although I'm a writer by profession I decided to try and do abstract art. I limited my color palette and tried to just make pleasing shapes with Cray-Pas on paper. The goal was to see the colors blend well and to bring motion to the composition. I ended up really liking these drawings, and I used the art-therapy angle when I made the main character of my subsequent novel It's Kind of a Funny Story draw 'brain maps' during his own hospital stay. In a real way, these are the drawings that inspired the brain maps."

On sale day and PHOTO CONTEST!

The awesome-ness of on-sale day is not just limited to my new novel, You Are Not Here, coming out. I am also launching a photo contest!

Entries will be accepted until 11:59pm (EST) December 20th, 2010. Three winners will be announced January 10th, 2011.

Check here for how to submit, guidelines, and more!

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Here’s an idea of what an entry might look like.
(Keep in mind, your pic doesn’t have to be in a cemetery.)

Name: Samantha Schutz
Age: 31
Location: NYC
What inspired this picture: I love how a cemetery can be beautiful, but at the same time, really depressing.
What quote from You Are Not Here is associated with this image:

“Nothing grows here besides grass.”

"She colored her world outside the lines."

klp, age 18.

[I found her in the midst of my struggle] :

“She smiled, I smiled. Her eyes wondered where mine once strayed, and her feet stepped where mine once stumbled. I watched as she made believe, tarring up pretty little pictures into tiny little pieces, cleaning up the mess she made. I saw her gentle smile as she colored her world outside the lines, unafraid of getting hurt, yet maybe a little too wreckless and flawed. As she starred at the image in disbelief, I recognized the pain behind her eyes as she started to believe the lies that she was not enough. I always knew she was just a little bit too much like me. If I could tell her one thing, it would be to be beautiful just the way she is.”

"This tunnel has been dark but you showed me light."

Colleen, Kentucky. Age 15.
Song: Road to Recovery

I felt good today
I haven't felt like this in awhile
You were walking with me
You have a way of making me smile

(Chorus:)
We've been on this road together
It's been a long journey
But you've held my hand this whole time
On this road to recovery

I don't know what I'd do without you
You've saved my life
This tunnel has been dark but you showed me light
And stayed by my side


(Repeat Chorus)

"The silence was too thick to be cut. Too hollow to be filled."

Jamie Lynn Cox, age 18. Fresno, CA.

Sorry

I had a dream last night

That I boarded a train

To nowhere in particular

But I was not alone

There were several people there

Just as bewildered as I

All were dressed in thin clothing

And shivering

Ill-prepared for the cold climate

There were no tickets

No assigned seating

No listed destinations

It was as if it were a one-way train

That would sleepily continue into the infinite darkness of night

The silence was too thick to be cut

Too hollow to be filled

I stumbled to my seat

Trying to recall where I was and why

Suddenly I spotted part of a name tag on one of the passengers

Shamefully trying to hide it in the breast of their coat so I couldn’t read it

I realized that every nameless person had one

Whether or not they knew about it

I frantically searched for mine to no avail

I wanted to know who I was!

There was a drunken vagrant sleeping in the back

Who reeked of his own piss and filth

I didn’t want to touch him

But I had to get closer

I had to know his name

I saw the rectangular sticker displayed right on his chest

As if he didn’t realize it was there

Or as if he didn’t care to hide it

His name was Responsibility

And I was in disbelief

How could Responsibility just let himself go like that?

As my search progressed

I discovered a name for everyone

Worry sat in the front row

Rocking back and forth next to Fear

Who held his head in his hands

Beauty’s makeup was smeared across her face

She was crying

She stared relentlessly into the dark windows

Trying to get a glimpse of her reflection

Hope was an elderly man

I’d assumed he’d been riding the same train for a very long time

Patiently waiting for the train to stop rolling so he could get off

He wore a smile

The only one I’ve seen yet

There was one girl who never looked at me

She just gazed towards the front of the train

Lacking the curiosity of everyone else

I approached her

Touched her cheek

And turned her face to mine

Her eyes were blue and clouded

She reached out awkwardly

To find my hand, I assume

Across her hand I found the name tag

Hello, my name is Blind

I sympathetically held her hand

And wondered if she knew her name

Though she couldn’t read her identifying label

Without locating my own,

I still didn’t know what to call myself

She cuddled up to my arm affectionately

So beautiful was she

Like an angel

I instantly grew close to her

As I watched her snuggle into my side

I saw my name tag across my shoulder!

I read it and a wave of guilt washed over me

My name was Sorry

I realized then and there

Through the silence that could not be broken

There was no way for me to introduce myself to Blind

I realized then and there

The warmth of our embrace would be the only communication her and I could ever share

I awoke and cried.

How would she feel if she knew she was cuddling next to a person with a name like mine?

I felt like Liar, taking advantage of that sweet girl

Someone like Trust should have held her

Not me

I wish there was a way for her to have known the truth

I wish there was a way I could have told her

I never wanted to hurt her

For all she knew, I could have been Love riding next to her

A person worthy of such compassion

I’ve never known a feeling like that before

She held my arm without ever questioning who she was holding

She just did it because I was there

Whatever I was

She didn’t care

She held my arm tightly

Scared

And clinging to the only person she knew

Unfortunately

I was Sorry

And she’d never know it.