Jamie Tworkowski's response: You are not a fake. You are not letting us down. You don't have to apologize. Our hope is that when someone wears a TWLOHA shirt, they're not saying they have it all together or that eveything is easy now. We hope they're simply saying that these issues matter to them, that they're fighting to believe in hope and help, and they're fighting to help others believe as well. There is no membership process, no criteria for acceptance. This is a movement for broken people and it is led by broken people. This movement exists for you and people like you. It is yours as much as it's mine. We want to say that we're sorry for your pain, for whatever it is that hurts and causes you to cut. We want to say that you're not alone tonight. Perhaps more than anything, we want to push back at the lie called shame that suggests you're stuck, suggests you're fake, suggests you're somehow failing us.

"You were created to love and be loved. You were meant to live life in relationship with other people, to know and be known. You need to know that your story is important and that you're part of a bigger story. You need to know that your life matters. We live in a difficult world, a broken world. My friend Byron is very smart - he says that life is hard for most people most of the time. We believe that everyone can relate to pain, that all of us live with questions, and all of us get stuck in moments. You need to know that you're not alone in the places you feel stuck. We all wake to the human condition. We wake to mystery and beauty but also to tragedy and loss. Millions of people live with problems of pain. Millions of homes are filled with questions – moments and seasons and cycles that come as thieves and aim to stay. We know that pain is very real. It is our privilege to suggest that hope is real, and that help is real.
i could tell myself that i forgot i saw this
or that i forgot there was this organization
but that wouldn't be true
i know it's out there and i know there's help too
but when i see someone send something like that in,
it reminds me that other people are struggling too
and i would have thought that knowing that
and reading that
would have made me feel better and made me feel stronger
but the truth is, i'm still weaker than i'm telling people
and i'm still weaker than i'd like to tell myself even
i know i'm getting there
and that i took a few good steps in the right direction
but it's really, really hard to stay in that direction
and to stay that grounded.
it's just really hard
i thought seeing this would help but it just makes me uncomfortable
and i know that my situation makes everyone uncomfortable too
because it is an uncomfortable situation
i wish i could change but i'm having trouble still
and i don't think that i want to
because when i saw this and these words,
i wanted to forget that i had
and that makes me think that i wanted to forget about hope
-Post Monday, December 1st, 2008.


Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. After that post, things were stagnantly awful for awhile. Then, eventually things got better and I let them. Now, things are awful again. I got so low Thursday morning. And it's only Friday night and I can't even remember what the light looked like on Wednesday during the day, even though it rained the whole time in Washington. Even though, there was still light. I woke up in a hotel room where the bed was big and the sheets were warm. The elevator had jokes, my suitcase wasn't stressing me out. But then, right around the 7th hour of the bus ride back, my feelings started to sink. Now, it's 12:20 on a Friday. And I can't even remember what the light looked like that Wednesday afternoon. Or on Wednesday morning. Or Tuesday night. Or Monday. Or Sunday. Fuck. I picked up that needle yesterday evening and I don't know what to do now. I feel like a fake, smiling. I feel like a fake, crying. I'm still uncomfortable. But now, I'm uncomfortable because my arm itches for more. And I"m pretty sure that no one saw today, though I wore short sleeves just to punish myself. I just fucking hate myself right now. I really do. I'm just so stupid. I opened that drawer and I can't close it now. Damn, that was stupid. I can't talk about it with anyone - everyone who knew was proud. I can't disappoint people, again. I already did that, as soon as I came back. Hell. I don't know why I did it. But I did and now, I want more. Now, I want blood. Now, I want it again. The deep cuts, the itch during the day to run home to my drawer. Hell. That drawer is open, a little over two months later.
...