If you are in crisis right now, please call or text 988. You don't have to finish reading this first. We'll be here when you get back.
I want to tell you about a Sunday night in high school.
It was 10pm. I was alone in my room. I had just spent weeks Googling my symptoms — the uncontrollable head nodding, the eye flutters, the tics that had been happening since I was 11 — and I was pretty sure I had Tourette syndrome. My parents had refused to take me to a doctor every single time I asked. It was always stress. Always my fault. Always something I needed to manage better.
I was sixteen, I was exhausted, and I was seriously thinking about not being here anymore.
I turned on the radio. Y100, a top 40 station out of Miami. And at 10pm, a show came on hosted by a man named Dawson McAllister. He had something called the Hope Line. People called in and talked about what they were going through — relationships, substance use, abuse, crisis. And at the end he'd say: if you're struggling yourself, our hope line is standing by.
I wrote down the number. And that night, I called.
What 988 Is
988 is the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline — the national number you can call, text, or chat anytime you're struggling. Not just if you're actively suicidal. Not just if things have gotten to the absolute worst point. Anytime.
Life's challenges can sometimes be more than we can carry alone. Whether that's mental health struggles, emotional distress, substance use issues, or just needing someone to talk to — 988 is there.
Here's what you need to know:
It's free. It's confidential. It's available 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. You can call, text, or chat online. There's even a visual platform for people who are Deaf or hard of hearing. You'll reach a real, trained counselor — not a recording, not a bot — for one-on-one support without judgment.
Their belief is simple: suicide is not inevitable. Hope can happen. And just having a conversation, just being connected to someone who sees you, can be the thing that changes everything.
Part of why I built Self-Care Shirts the way I did is because I believe in funding the work that 988 does — which is why 10% of every purchase goes to 988 and The Trevor Project quarterly. If you want to support that mission while giving something meaningful, our Gifts for Someone in Recovery collection is a good place to start.
My Story
I need to go back to being eleven years old.
That's when the tics started. Head nodding. Eye fluttering. Things I couldn't stop, couldn't control, couldn't explain. Kids on the bus threw clay at my head. They mimicked me, bullied me, threatened me. Girls in my classes laughed and whispered. I was mortified every single day and I had no idea what was wrong with me.
I went to my dad when I was eleven and showed him. I said: I keep doing this. I want to go to a doctor.
He said he'd never seen me do it before.
I looked at him like he was joking. I said: you've never seen me do this? And I did the tic again, right in front of him.
He said: nope. Never.
Years later I overheard my grandmother ask him about it when he came to pick us up. He said I don't know — which told me everything. He had seen it all along. He just chose to do nothing. Because my parents were very good at burying their heads and pretending everything was fine, even when their children were suffering right in front of them.
Middle school became high school. The tics got worse. I started falling asleep everywhere — in class, at home, without warning — which I now know was narcolepsy. Every few months I'd bring it up again. Something is wrong with me. I want to see a doctor. Every time: it's just stress, Alyssa. You need to manage your stress better. You're doing this to yourself.
He gave me books on stress management. He told me to go to sleep earlier. He told me it was my fault.
I was also living in an abusive home. Physical, emotional, verbal, medical neglect. And I had to smile through all of it because if you showed how much you were hurting, that became a weapon too.
I remember my AP English teacher nominating me for English Student of the Year. He gave a speech about me before they called my name. He said: this student always has a smile on her face. She's one of the happiest kids I've ever seen.
They called my name. I walked up on stage. I accepted the award.
And I cried myself to sleep that night. Because that was all anyone ever saw. The smile. Not what was underneath it.
The Sunday Night I Called
When I was sixteen I finally got internet on my phone. Early 2000s. I Googled my symptoms and found a diagnosis called Tourette syndrome. The more I read, the more certain I was. A girl at school asked me point blank one day: do you have Tourette's? I said I thought so. I went home and sobbed.
Because I knew. And I still couldn't get help.
That's when the suicidal thoughts stopped being passing and started having plans. I would think about the medications I could find around the house. I would think through how it would happen. I didn't want to die — I want to be clear about that. Nobody in that kind of pain actually wants to die. They just want the pain to stop. They want to stop hurting. They want to stop feeling like they are the problem, the burden, the thing that can't be fixed.
I called the Hope Line more times than I can count. Sometimes for an hour. I'd sob and tell them about the tics, about my parents, about how alone I felt. They listened. They validated. They told me I wouldn't be in my parents' house forever. That it could get better. That there was hope.
It didn't resolve everything. But it got me through the night. And then the next night. And then the one after that.
I also got pet rats — after watching Ratatouille, of all things. I know. But I loved those rats. They were my reason to get up in the morning. My reason to go to school, to apply to college, to keep going. Sometimes your reason to stay doesn't look the way anyone would expect. Sometimes it's a rat named after a Pixar character. That's okay. A reason is a reason.
What Happened After
When I turned eighteen I took myself to a neurologist. He watched me for about two minutes and said: yeah, you have Tourette's. Two minutes. Seven years of being told it was my fault, and a doctor figured it out in two minutes.
I eventually got on medication in my twenties after a bad episode at work where my tics were so severe I was sobbing at my desk. A coworker told me about a psychiatrist. I got help. It got better — not perfect, but better.
I've been through a lot since then. Estrangement from my parents and a sibling. Loss. A whole life I had to build from scratch because the one I was handed wasn't safe. I still struggle sometimes. A few weeks ago I was having a hard stretch and I actually called 988. As an adult. Because that's what it's there for — not just for teenagers in crisis, not just for the worst moments, but for anyone who needs to be seen.
Why I Made a Shirt About It
When I designed the 988 shirt, I was having one of those days where I needed to hear it myself. You are not alone. Call or text 988.
I drew it because I needed it. Same as every other design in this collection.
I also made a shirt that says The World Is a Better Place With You In It — because it is. Yours included. And Take Up Space — because so many of us have spent our whole lives apologizing for existing, shrinking ourselves down for people who couldn't love us the way we needed to be loved.
These shirts exist so people feel less alone. So someone walking by you sees something on your shirt and recognizes themselves in it and thinks: okay. I'm not the only one.
That's the whole thing. That's always been the whole thing.
You Don't Have to Be in Crisis to Call
This is the part I most want you to hear.
988 isn't only for when you're standing at the edge. You don't have to earn the right to call by suffering enough. If you're struggling — if the weight is getting heavy, if the isolation is creeping in, if you're putting on a smile and crying when no one can see — that's enough reason.
Not everyone has someone. Not everyone grew up with parents who showed up. Not everyone has a support system waiting on the other end of a text.
988 is there. Free. Confidential. No judgment. Just a human being on the other end who will listen and remind you that what you're going through is real, and hard, and not your fault — and that it can get better.
Because it can. I promise you it can. I am living proof.
Call or text 988. Anytime. You are not alone.
Self-Care Shirts donates 10% of proceeds to 988 and The Trevor Project. Shop the 988 Mental Health Awareness collection and designs like The World Is a Better Place With You In It, Take Up Space, You Are Not a Burden, and Storms Don't Last Forever.
Every purchase directly funds crisis support. The Not Broken Shirt and You Are Enough Shirt are two of the most meaningful pieces to give someone who is struggling. And everything in our Gifts Under $30 collection supports the same mission.
If you or someone you know is struggling, please reach out. Call or text 988 anytime.
