This was hard to write, but I had to get it out there.

I tried starting this blog post two nights ago, but have been struggling with the writing process... Not because I've had writers' block, but simply because it's something I don't like that I have to write about.

I've been really, ridiculously blessed in the past few months. Since January, my life has changed in so many ways, each and every single one of them for the better. A new job, new friendships, shifts in my clarity of purpose and where I see myself going with my life? It's incredible. I can't tell you how many times I've had to stop myself lately to just take in the good things that have finally come my way.

That "finally" up there. That's where this post is coming from and why it's so hard to get out.

A local young teenager, who was openly gay and involved with numerous school activities, took his own life on Tuesday night. I didn't know Jesse, but he was friends with many people I've worked with in local theater. I don't know any of the specifics leading up to his decision - he's the only one who truly does - and I don't need to. His story, at least what I know of it, is not much different from many other tragedies that so many people are forced to deal with. 

The sadness, the what-if's, the questions... they're exhausting and only lead to more sadness and confusion. While I could wax rhapsodic on the horrible topic, I really need to get my story out, in hopes that it might offer some help to someone who may be struggling themselves. 

When I was 10 years old, my entire grade school class turned against me and my best friend, quite literally overnight. It was an early spring day, one of those first nice ones of the season, and we were enjoying our first outdoor recess of the year. I was never the athletic type (some things never change) and the previous winter, the girl who had been my best friend discovered that she loved soccer. I wasn't resentful toward her for it, but, being a kid, I was a little hurt. Thankfully, one of our other friends at the time stepped up - we're actually still friends today. Anyway. That day at recess, my entire class was running around on the soccer field and my best friend and I just weren't feeling it. We were just sort of wandering around in the tiny patch of woods at the edge of the field - y'know, standard kid stuff. And then, out of nowhere, some girls ran up and threw a shower of those seed "helicopters" that fall from pin oaks all over us... while singing the Wedding March. Haha, stupid childish fooling around. Right?

The following school day is a blur of choking back tears and telling people to just shut up and leave me alone, but I remember going home that night and asking my mother what a lesbian was, because some of the kids in school had decided to start calling us that. I was a naive 10, not the kind of 10-year-old that runs around with an iPhone today. I had never heard such a word and had never imagined kissing a boy yet, much less, a girl.

This tormenting went on through the rest of my elementary school years, and, at times, carried into high school. I filled diary after diary with "I hate my life" and "No one loves me" and wished for a different life for myself. I'm thankful that I went through what I had to, though.

Looking back on those years is really hard for me, but I've been able to realize some very important things because of them. I realized, most importantly, that what I had been so hurt about was not the fact that my classmates were spreading rumors that I was into women. What hurt was that, just because I ran with a different crowd and was into things like comedy, history and Girl Scouts, instead of sports and boys, my classmates pegged me with what they thought was the worst insult they could come up with. I knew that I was straight but trying to argue that to pre-teens when you haven't so much as held hands with a boy yet is a damn near impossible task. 

Eighth grade brought a new challenge to me because for the first time since fourth grade, my best friend and I were in different homerooms and had to take some classes separately. Plus, I still had never kissed a boy (I wouldn't until I was nearly 17), my parents were strict as ever and I had managed to hit a pretty consistent low after spending now four years dealing with the same old crap. When I think back on going through all of this, it's usually fourth grade and that day at recess that comes to mind as the lowest point, but truthfully, my lowest lows were definitely eighth grade. 

And then, by some stroke of grace, I discovered things. My passions. And people who liked the same things I did.

One of the perks of being an eighth grader at my elementary school was getting first pick of elective classes - 15 or so special-interest courses that let you learn new things while flaunting your seniority over the rest of the school. Most people rushed to fill the dance and kindergarten-helper sections, but I meandered my way over to things like crafts and newspaper writing. We had one crappy old Macintosh computer in our classroom, and the four of us (who actually chose to do MORE writing than required in our standard classes) slaved over our little paper. The stories that I wrote that semester weren't Pulitzer-worthy, by ANY means (I'm just about positive one was about my dog), but I had finally found something that gave me a sense of fulfillment. 

Outside of school, I was just starting to get into theater. I was in one show a year in sixth and seventh grades and when eighth grade started, the first theater group I worked with really hit its stride. That spring, I started forging friendships with some of the "adult" cast members and while our relationships have changed over the years, those are the people who helped make me into the outgoing person I am today.

Even with the people and outlets I had finally begun to find for myself, I still had to go to school. And school was a terribly lonely place. Feeling alone is not something I would wish on my worst enemy. For someone as naturally extroverted as myself, it was particularly jarring. I'm not always the best at articulating my deep feelings (see: Liz Lemon: "I am terrible at expressing my feelings, but it's not because I don't have them. It's just because I'm used to being let down."), so not having people around me I felt comfortable with was extremely difficult. Being an actress and all, I was awfully good at putting on a front for my classmates, but really, a huge portion of my junior high years were spent somewhere in my mind. 

I don't know what you, reading this, have gone through. I genuinely hope that you have never had to feel alone. If you do right now, and you need someone, anyone, please know that I am here, in whatever capacity you need. It's okay to feel weak or useless or stretched too thin. It's not okay to feel like you are the only one feeling like that, or like you have no one to go to for a bit of relief. There is always someone. 

I also hope that you have something you can call your own. When I was writing and acting back then, I didn't truly realize what I was doing for myself. Truth be told, I was saving my own life, one rehearsal at a time. My memories of those years are not what most people have - birthday parties with classmates, boy/girl parties and what have you - mine are conversations and experiences and moments of feelings that mean more to me than I'll ever be able to explain.

I guess what I'm trying to say here, for whoever is reading this... is that life is what you make of it. It would have been so easy, so many times over, for me to just give up. I'm not going to bore you any more with anecdotes of how shitty some of high school was for me (I often forget about those times because the second half was so good), but keep in mind that everything I detailed here was not an isolated event. I'm weird, I'm into strange things, I get it. But I've finally grown very comfortable with who I am and what I have to offer and that is why I am sharing this.

For as confident as I am today, I still have moments of severe weakness. That's never going to go away - I don't expect it to - but it's scary when it happens. Those pin oak helicopters are covering my yard as I type this, and looking at them makes me inwardly cringe. A simple sentence can trigger my mood and force me to fall onto my bed in a fit of tears. But for every one of those terrible nights? There are 10 really awesome evenings. The number of kids in my grade school class pales in comparison to the army of sorts that's formed around me. The worst mood one night is followed by an absolutely beautiful morning. The people who are around you for all the mundane crap of your life suddenly become surprising and funny and smart and you can't imagine your life without them in it. 

Life is beautiful and I am so, so thankful that I found my way through it. I hope, so sincerely, that you never ever lose the will to find those beautiful moments for yourself.