It was a rainy day, and I was sad. Life felt like a lot, and it was more bad than good. To make matters worse, it wasn't just a bad week; it had been a long couple of bad months. From betrayed trust to broken promises to blame that I did not deserve, I was weighed down. The pain that I felt made me feel like there wasn't any hope. 

But I was stuck. I had people that I still cared about who would be devastated if anything happened to me, and that was the thing I was fighting for. I kept waking up every morning in hope that it would get better, that I would be able to endure for a little bit longer, seeing the next day as a promise to those I loved. 

 I still did the things my routine called for. 

7:00 am: get out of bed and get dressed. Don't forget to brush your teeth and do makeup, for goodness sake. Hide what you cannot heal. Maybe no one will notice. Maybe you won't have to make an excuse for being quiet if you look pretty enough. 

8:30 drive to school

9:30 class and homework time 

11:00: Take a nap and work 

 1:00: Freshen up, do makeup, and fix the makeup where the tears smeared and left dark bags. Time to help people. 

Did you notice that I never mentioned food? 

I don't eat anymore. I learned that people don't notice if you don't eat anymore. They just notice if you look ‘better' or 'skinnier.'. I don't mind if people don't notice. It's not like I have an answer perfect enough for them. Answering means having a good reason. And if people can't relate, they won't sit with the discomfort; they fix or judge. Or worse, they leave. It's not their fault; they can't help it. Nobody was taught how to deal with functioning depression. 

 I stopped wanting to explain why I don't smile. I don't explain why I don't talk anymore. Which is funny, because I always noticed if someone acted differently. I used to be a talker. I used to want to do things. Now, I pray I can make it through a day without burdening someone else. 

I don't want to hurt people, but that means I have to hurt alone. 

I would feel guilty if my pain burdened them. 

Maybe it is better this way. 

This is the mantra I repeat to myself every time I want to cry. There is a time and place to cry, and people don't want to see you messy. They want fun, and if you can't be fun, you have to be easy to be around. I am at work, and I cannot cry. But it's a lot, and it's swirling around in my brain. It's drowning out anything else. It's taking me over. I needed to make it through my shift. 

One thing you need to know about me is that I work at an occupational therapy clinic. I help people overcome their injuries, and when it gets tough or painful, I am there to distract them. I am there to encourage them. I am there to help them. Which is funny, because I need help too. 

Then she came in. 

I had worked with her several times. She has a condition where she is in chronic pain all the time. Her nerves feel like they are burning, and she cannot use her hands the way she usually does. It takes a lot of effort to help her, and I don't feel like I have the energy to do it today. I wish she wasn't my last patient of the day. 

I still smiled. I still asked her how she was, to get a nod. She has never talked in the months she has been here. I don't know if it is from pain that she doesn't talk, but her silence is welcome today. I can get through it today if this silence continues. I start counting the minutes. 

As therapy continues, she becomes more frustrated. Automatically, I start smiling. I force the brightest smile, and I tell her she is improving. I don't know if this is true; I have too much going on in my head. I am trying to drown the emotions that want to take over. 

"You have the most beautiful smile I have ever seen." 

What? Who said that? 

"You have the most beautiful smile I have ever seen," she says again. 

I had never heard her voice before. I know how much effort it takes for her to talk, and she didn't just talk once; she talked to me twice. 

I froze. 

I looked at her, unsure what to do. She was looking at me, but she wasn't looking at my mouth. She was looking at my eyes. I couldn't look away. 

It was like she was looking into my soul. She was reading my emotions and thoughts. I couldn't escape, and it terrified me. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. 

Her eyes changed, and for the first time, I was able to see her. I was able to see all of her. I was her for a moment.

7:04 wake up; the pain hasn't gone away. Lay in bed and pray for the strength to get up. 

7:08: Struggle to get up. Oh, the pain is so bad. Why hasn't it gotten any better? 

7:40 The nurse helps me shower because I need to go to therapy and can't smell bad. 

8:00: Back in bed. The shower took so much effort, and I need a moment. Oh Lord, why has the pain gotten worse? 

Sleep takes over. 

3:00: I get into the car to go to therapy. 

3:30: I start therapy. The girl is there. She is quiet today, very quiet. It's quiet, I know. I, too, have been quiet and can recognize the pain that overwhelms and leaves someone unable to talk. She is hurting, but I don't know why. If only I could talk to her, but I don't speak because of the pain. I need to tell her something. I can't leave her, so young, without the ability to feel hope. 

I want to tell her that she isn't alone. That I see her, but she doesn't have to explain anything to me. That I know how hard it is to tell someone about the pain you feel and have to then tell them that they can't make it better. I understand that it can feel like you are alone and that no one sees you. 

It's hard. It sucks. It's overwhelming. But I need to do something. "You have the most beautiful smile I have ever seen." 

She looks startled, and I know how strange my voice sounds. I don't talk, and it hurts so much. 

"You have the most beautiful smile I have ever seen." I repeat, and I will myself to send the silent message with my eyes. I see you. You are not alone. I don't need an explanation to be here until you want to move. You don't need to do anything for me. You don't owe me an explanation to be fully seen and valued. 

Then suddenly, I am back in my body. I am not the patient anymore, and I am facing the problems again. But this time, I feel ok. 

She looked at my pain, and she thought I had the most beautiful smile. She saw my pain and told me it made me beautiful. I thought my pain would break me. She showed me beauty. I had thought I needed to help her, but she helped me. 

See, she taught me how to see pain. It wasn't that I needed to fix my pain or find the perfect way to hide it. Pain is something she and I shared. Pain is something that we all share. Seeing her life told me that we were both in the middle of something devastating. Both of us were fighting to live. She was living with pain that would not go away, and I am praying that my pain will end. I wanted to tell her how much that meant to me. How I was losing hope and that I wasn't sure how to keep going like this; I needed to hear that. But then I realized she knew that. That is why she said that. She traded a bit of her life to see me and lift me. It was the hope I had been waiting for.

The beauty of what she did was that she saw my pain and had compassion. We didn't have to feel the same kind of pain for her to find our humanity and offer hope. Maybe, just maybe, as much as I needed some hope, she did too. The greatest thing we can offer to others isn't a solution but seeing the person for who they are, all of who they are, and remind them that they are not alone.