At Least I'm Trying

How did it end?

Where do I start? "No one wants me here, I can't make myself likeable, I have no talents and I have no energy. I can't even see my future, I didn't think I'd ever make it past 13." I say, now fully crying again, my nose burning and my throat aching.

I look up at Taylor, knowing I just broke her heart as her eyes widen with sympathy and worry.

Taylor traces soothing patterns on my back, contemplating what to say. "Babe... I promise that you are wanted and loved and here for a reason. First of all, I love you so much and I couldn't do what I do without you. You are important, just because other people make you feel like you're not doesn't mean that's true. Who's opinions are you listening to?" Taylor says gently.

"It's not something tangible. I can see everyone's dread in interacting with me, people tell me I'm too much, my teachers tell me to get it together or I won't be successful, and these people surround me right now, so their opinions do matter!" I cry.

"I'm so sorry you're feeling like this. Sometimes people are insecure, going through something, or just mean. It doesn't say anything about you and how amazing you are. There are people out there who will love you for you and there are skills you have that will make you successful. It can be hard to tune out people's opinions, but it helps, and I can tell these people's opinions are hurting you." Taylor responds.

"I'm not you though. When I look in the mirror, I know that I'm ugly and distorted. People don't just say I'm dumb, I actually process things slowly and need tutoring. Sometimes I study really hard and still fail! Some people are hated by their peers or their teachers, but I'm hated by both! I can't talk to my parents about this because they'll just yell at me," I sobbed.

Taylor nods, listening intently. "So you feel like there's validity to what they're saying because you believe it too, am I understanding correctly?" she asks kindly.

I nod, scared to look at her. She's the definition of resilient and I'm the definition of weak. "Honey, I can promise you that you are not ugly or distorted. Society has such unrealistic beauty standards and there's no one definition for beauty. If you have problems with learning things from school, it's not a deficit in your intelligence. People have strengths and weaknesses, and people learn in different ways. It may be possible that you haven't found the way you learn best yet, and that's not your fault. It's ok to ask for help. Everyone needs it sometimes; everyone has areas in life that they need extra support in. It doesn't make you any less amazing. I love you." Taylor says, kissing my forehead.

I just relax in her arms as she holds me, letting myself not be strong.

"I bet your parents are so worried, let's drive you home," Taylor says as she sees Travis come back. She notices me tense up and the pace of my breathing quicken.

"Are you being treated Ok at home?" Taylor asks.

I stare at the floor.

"Y/n, honey, it's important to be honest here. We can help you if you tell us," Taylor says, gently urging me.

"They just yell at me all the time. They locked me in my room with no food for the whole weekend because I got a bad grade. No mistake I make goes unpunished. Sometimes they hit me. I understand I need discipline and to learn how to be an adult, but I'm tired of being scared and feeling worthless," I say, my lip trembling.

"Baby, you don't deserve to be treated like that. That's abuse. You can stay with us, we have a guest room and we'll be calling CPS. You're so brave for telling us and we're really proud of you." Taylor says.

Travis drives back as Taylor continues to hold me like a small child. I don't mind it one bit though, it's nice to feel loved.

"Ok, the guest room is here and here are some blankets and clothes that should fit you. Do you feel like takeout for dinner?" Taylor asks.

"Whatever you guys want is good. I like food," I reply. Taylor laughs softly. "Okay hun, I'll leave up the screen for you to order when you're done getting sorted," Taylor says, giving me some space.

I can't believe that I'm just in her house. And that she saved my life. Wait, shit, Taylor Swift knows I want to die. That's supposed to be the one thing no one knows. I make the bed and put the clothes on: a size small tour shirt and sweatpants.

Taylor lets me order whatever I want, something I'm not used to because my mom always lectured me about calories and diabetes. When the food comes, I dig in, going from my spring rolls to my entree to my dessert. "I'm still more hungry, is it ok if I have something from your pantry? Sorry if I'm being rude," I say.

"Of course bub! You can always have food, no need to ask for permission," Taylor says, smiling. She walks over to the pantry. We have chips, popcorn, cookies, raisins, bars, and crackers. As for the fridge, we have strawberries, blackberries, blueberries, chicken, almond milk, and some stuff for sandwiches," Taylor says.

"Can I have some cookies and strawberries?" I ask

"Of course," Taylor says, bringing them over to the table.

"Eat as much as you need, don't worry about it," she says.

I end up eating a sleeve of cookies and the tub of strawberries. I don't think that's what she meant when she said to eat as much as I need, but I was truly so hungry. I'm scared she's going to yell at me.

"Sorry, I ate a lot of your food," I say, my voice shaking.

"It's ok, sweetie. It seems like you needed it." Taylor reassures, rubbing my back.

After dinner, I decide I'm exhausted and go directly to bed. "Ok, please let me know if you need anything, honey. I'm here for you," Taylor calls up to me.

I find it strange, how in a few hours with Taylor, I have felt more loved than I have in a long time.