Remember These Feelings.

Depression Friend.

I don't want a Depression Friend.

We've been through a lot, you and I.
But I don't want this anymore.
I don't want you to feel like you have to fix me.
I don't want you to think that because I leaned on you and you brought me back from the edge that the edge is all I will ever be close to.
I don't want you to see me and ask with pity or pain in your eyes if I am okay.

Pity or pain.
Assumption.
Maybe.
You think I'm not and that hurts because sometimes I am.
Okay, that is.

You care, I know you do.
But the care is overshadowing the fact that we can still have fun.
When I'm with you I can't joke like we used to.
When I'm with you I could have been right as rain for eons on end but when you look into my eyes, concern etched into your brow and compassion dripping from your lips as you ask me if I'm okay...
Well...
I find reasons not to be.

Your presence makes me sad now.

I associate the bounce of your hair with the bounce of a freshly tied noose. The sweep of your cheekbones with the sweep of a blade against flesh. And the glisten in your eyes with the glisten of tears in mine.
I associate you with my depression.

So when you ask me if I'm okay, my depression tells me that I am not.
Because you think I might not be.
Because how could I be.
Because my depression knows I should not be.
Because I can't be happy for one goddamn second of my life without being reminded that I was sad once.

I can't escape my wounds if your care cuts them open to see if they're still bleeding.

So no, I do not want you, Depression Friend.

For H and K. I'm sorry.