Since the day I was born, my mind was different from everyone else's.

I didn't feel anger. I didn't feel sadness. I didn't even feel pain.

The only emotion I ever had was love.

You'd think that was a good thing—feeling nothing but love. But it wasn't.

I smiled at everything. Even at funerals. Even when the people I cared about were gone forever.

People started to notice. Their smiles faded when they looked at me. Their warmth turned cold.

They whispered. They stared. Then, one by one, they left.

I was alone.

So, I made a decision.

If I had no one to love, I would love everyone. The good. The bad. The kind. The cruel. It didn't matter.

I was still a child, only ten years old. I didn't understand the world yet.

But on my twelfth birthday, everything changed.

The world revealed its darkness to me—the cruelty, the pain, the suffering that I had never noticed before.

And yet, I still smiled.

Not because I was happy.

But because smiling was the only thing that made me feel… something.

High school was supposed to be a new start.

At first, it was. People were kind. I made friends. I thought, Maybe this time will be different.

But as the days passed, the same thing happened.

People backed away. Their eyes filled with unease.

I heard their whispers again.

"He's creepy."

"He never stops smiling."

"He's like a psycho."

The words dug into me like invisible knives, over and over again, until I felt hollow.

And then, on my thirteenth birthday, something inside me finally broke.

I stopped feeling love.

I stopped feeling anything.

But my mind wouldn't stop.

It raced. Overthinking every little thing.

Was I really that creepy?

Was I really a psycho?

Why was I even born?

Wouldn't it be better if I wasn't?

I wanted someone—anyone—to tell me I was wrong.

I went to my parents. I told them everything. About the bullying. The loneliness. The way I felt like I didn't belong in this world.

They didn't listen.

They never did.

They acted like I wasn't even there.

That's when the thoughts started.

Maybe I'm dreaming.

Maybe I just need to wake up.

How do I wake up?

I searched for answers in the only way I knew how.

I took a blade to my skin. Just a small cut at first.

For the first time in my life, I felt pain. And for a moment, just a moment, the thoughts disappeared.

So I did it again. And again.

Soon, my body was covered in bandages.

No one noticed.

Or maybe they just didn't care.

When the pain wasn't enough, I tried starving myself. The hunger kept my mind occupied. It gave me peace.

But the peace never lasted.

So I started thinking about the only thing that would make it stop forever.

Death.

I researched the most painless way to die.

Poison.

That was it. That was the answer.

I found what I needed.

I was ready.

And then, as I sat in my room, about to take that final step, I heard a voice.

A gentle, warm voice.

A voice unlike any I had ever heard before.

It wasn't harsh. It wasn't cold. It wasn't full of judgment.

It was full of love. A love that was real. A love that saw me.

A love that had been there all along, even when I didn't realize it.

"I love you."

The voice of someone who had never left my side.

The voice of someone who loved me, even when the world turned away.

The voice of Jesus.