To the boy on the bus this morning

You're young. Maybe 16. 
You are wearing a clean white shirt and pants and look like you are on your way to work. 
Through the music on my headphones, I hear you talking. 
You're on the phone... But no, no phone or headphones. 
You're talking to yourself. Swearing , hitting yourself and the bus wall in front of you. You're actually quite quiet. It's not aimed at anyone else on the bus, it's aimed at yourself. 

You stand up to get off the bus, I see all the scars and sores  on your face and arms. ICE or Meth, I'm thinking. 

You. Are. So. Young. You are handsome for a kid, you have big clear blue eyes. You aren't homeless and you look like someone cares for you. 

You have psychosis. 

If you stop now, you might not suffer from mental health problems permanently. If you stop now, at 16, you might have a normal life, you might even have an extraordinary life. 

In between swearing at yourself and getting off the bus, you stop and thank the bus driver and walk off. 

I think there is hope for you.