I’ve written and drafted this part so many times because I really had to figure out who I was writing for and how I wanted to portray it. I held Liam close to my heart, and I want to give the right narrative on what mental health looked like, for both myself and Liam at the time.

Although he carried himself in a way that portrayed light and happiness, Liam struggled. I saw him struggle, I saw him cry, heard him sigh, and listened as he processed all the overwhelming thoughts that went through his mind. So, as much as I want to reflect on our time and see him as an ultimate light, or a symbol of happiness—he wasn’t. Well, at least I wouldn’t frame it that way.

What he was, was someone I felt safe with, someone who understood with no judgment (well, maybe a little, haha), and someone who had that empathy and could feel when things became too difficult for me. To me, that held so much more meaning than any symbol could represent.

After Liam’s passing, there was no big lesson or revelation that came to mind. I just felt. I felt grief, sadness, anger, desperation—everything. It all welled up inside of me because, truthfully, just like everybody else, Liam didn’t deserve to die. He didn’t deserve to die for him to have an impact on people, or to break out of a stigma, or for people to learn from. He just shouldn’t have died, period. So, I also can’t confidently say that I have gratitude toward his death, and that’s not to diminish his impact, but rather because all the impact I was grateful for was given to me when he was alive, not because he died.

The reason why I’m saying this is because, as someone who Liam confided in, who was exposed to the vulnerabilities behind that smile, as someone who didn’t have all of his story but was fortunate to hold some of it, all I can conclude from it is that—the struggle around mental health is messy. It’s messy, it’s confusing, and it’s ugly. It’s something so brutal to live with. Something that makes people wonder, “Why me?” Something that is just so scary to fight against. This was the struggle Liam faced, and I know he wasn’t alone in that, just as the individuals who read this also aren’t alone in it. I see you, and I hear you, and just like Liam, you deserve to be seen and heard.

So, as I write about this, I am going to be very transparent and not tell you to “just have hope,” or paint hope out to be this light at the end of the tunnel. Because when you are dealing with all these overwhelming thoughts and emotions, when Liam was dealing with all these overwhelming thoughts and emotions, phrases like this are hard to hear. Liam would always refute it with, “It’s not that easy.” And I agree. Just as it’s hard to convince someone to run when they can barely walk, you can’t convince someone to be happy with a snap of a finger when they have been struggling for a long time.

However, what I learned from my time with Liam is that healing doesn’t need to push the need for you to get better right away, or the need to stop feeling those unpleasant feelings/thoughts. Healing can simply be waking up the next morning, getting out of bed, or even just accepting the fact that you are alive and breathing. And I wish it was recognized in this way so Liam wouldn’t have to feel like the idea of healing was too far for him to reach. Because it was there, and he deserved to heal. He deserved to have hope.

What I really want to say, and what a lot of the meaning behind the hope in Lowkure is, is that the hope Lowkure is trying to remind you of is one that is waiting. A hope that you deserve. Something you may not want at the moment or acknowledge at the moment, and that’s okay because, no matter what, it’s hope that will always follow you around, waiting for you to embrace it. You deserve it.

Message to Liam:

To the Liam I love, the one who will always be ingrained in my heart: I simply miss you… alot.