The world feels quieter today. The sky is overcast, the clouds heavy, but there’s a softness in the air that feels like a quiet promise. A promise that even when things seem uncertain, there’s still hope. A hope that I’m learning to believe in again, one step at a time.
I stand by the window of my apartment, staring at the city below, lost in thought. It’s been months since I lost Eli. Time has done little to ease the ache in my chest, but I’ve come to realize something I couldn’t see before—his loss doesn’t define me.
I am still here. And I’m still breathing.
But I don’t want to just survive anymore. I want to make a difference. I want to do something with this pain, with this sorrow that feels like it’s been etched into my soul. I don’t want Eli’s death to be in vain. I want to take what he taught me and use it to help others who are struggling the way he did, the way I did.
For the longest time, I thought I was broken beyond repair. I thought I was too much to handle, that my mental health was something I’d always have to hide, something to be ashamed of. But Eli, in his own quiet way, taught me that it’s okay to not be okay. That asking for help isn’t weakness, it’s strength.
And now, I want to help others feel that same strength.
I want to save the people who are struggling, who feel like they’re drowning in their own thoughts, their own darkness. Because I know what that’s like. I know the weight of it, the way it drags you down when you can’t even find the will to keep going.
But I also know that there’s always a way out. It may not always feel like it, but there is.
I take a deep breath and reach for my phone, tapping out a quick message to Liana. She’s always been my rock, my support when I couldn’t find my own. If there’s anyone who understands what I want to do, it’s her.
Me: Liana, I’ve been thinking. I want to start helping people who struggle with their mental health, especially those who feel like they don’t have anyone. Do you think it’s possible to create a support group or something? I want to do something meaningful.
I press send and wait. The message feels like a weight lifted off my shoulders, like a small but significant step toward something bigger than myself.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzes. Liana’s reply comes in fast, as always.
Liana: I think that’s an amazing idea, Iris. You’ve got so much to offer, and there are so many people out there who could really benefit from your experience. Let’s talk more about it when you’re free.
I smile softly at her words. Liana’s belief in me has always been unwavering, even when I couldn’t believe in myself.
I set the phone down and sit back, letting the idea settle into my mind. A support group. It sounds simple, but I know how powerful it can be. People who have been through the same struggles, sharing their stories, offering their support. It’s healing, not just for them, but for me too. I don’t want to be just a bystander in other people’s lives anymore. I want to be part of their journey, part of their healing.
I’m scared, of course. Fear has always been a constant companion, whispering doubts in my ear. But I know that I can’t let fear hold me back anymore. If I can get through everything I’ve been through, I can help others do the same.
I stand up and walk over to my painting easel, staring at the blank canvas in front of me. For so long, I painted to escape, to hide from the pain. But now, I feel the urge to paint for something more. To paint for healing, for hope. Maybe this is the next step in my journey.
I pick up a brush and dip it into the colors, my heart steadying with each stroke. The world may not always be kind, but there’s beauty in it. And maybe, just maybe, I can help someone else see that beauty too.
As I work, I feel a sense of peace that I haven’t felt in a long time. It’s as though Eli is still here, in the strokes of paint, in the words of encouragement, in the love that he gave me. And maybe, just maybe, I can pass that love on to someone else who needs it just as much as I did.
Because the truth is, I don’t want anyone else to feel the way I did, alone and lost. If I can help even one person find their way out of the darkness, then I’ll know that I’ve done something worthwhile.
I’m ready to save others. I’m ready to make a difference. And most of all, I’m ready to live for something more than the pain.
The days have passed, each one a little brighter than the last, though the pain of loss still lingers. I hold onto the memories of Eli; those fleeting moments of happiness and warmth he gave me. It’s hard to imagine a world without him in it, but I know deep down that he’s still with me. Not in the physical sense, but in every memory, every dream, every bit of love he left behind.
I close my eyes, feeling the weight of the promise I made to him.
"Until we meet again."
It’s more than just a phrase. It’s a promise to myself, a promise that I’ll keep moving forward, no matter how dark the days may get.
I sit in front of my easel, my hands still, the brush poised in the air as I think about the future. I no longer fear my bipolar disorder. It’s a part of me, yes, but it doesn’t define me. It won’t hold me back from living my life and helping others who may be struggling just as I did. Eli’s love and support taught me that.
My eyes flicker to the empty canvas in front of me, a blank slate for the next chapter of my journey. I don’t know exactly what the future holds, but for the first time in a long time, I’m okay with that. I’ve learned that I don’t have to have all the answers right away. What matters is that I’m taking steps forward, one small, brave step at a time.
And somewhere in the quiet, I can almost hear Eli’s voice, soft and reassuring. "You’re not alone, Iris."
The words echo in my mind, a gentle reminder that even when it feels like I’m on my own, I have the strength to keep going. I can carry his memory with me, and in doing so, I can find the strength to live, to help, to heal.
With a deep breath, I dip the brush into the paint once more, the colors blending together, forming something new.
I’ll make it through.
And until we meet again, Eli… I’ll be okay. I promise.
I paint, each stroke a quiet affirmation, a way to honor him and the love we shared. A way to say goodbye, even though I know goodbye isn’t forever. Not for us.
In the silence, I feel a sense of peace wash over me. I will carry his love in my heart, and I’ll never let it go. It will guide me, just as it did when he was by my side.
Because even though he’s gone, his love remains. And I’ll carry it with me always, through every moment of every day. Until we meet again.
EPILOGUE:
Iris has always found solace in painting, using colors to express the emotions she struggles to put into words. But for someone battling bipolar disorder, even colors can lose their meaning. The one person who saw beyond her shifting moods was Eli—her best friend, her safe place, the boy who sketched her when she thought no one was looking.
Eli understood Iris in ways no one else did. His presence was a steady light in her ever-changing world. But what she never knew was that Eli was fighting his own silent battles, pain, drowning in a darkness she never saw. When he takes his own life, Iris is left shattered, questioning everything—her own struggles, their unspoken love, and the signs she missed.
As she spirals through grief, guilt, and painful memories, Iris finds herself standing at the edge of her own abyss. But before she loses herself completely, she makes a promise—to save others the way she couldn’t save Eli. To find a reason to keep painting. To keep living, even when the colors begin to fade.