My name?
Okay, my name is Brendan.
My friend’s daughter,
Caroline, is beautiful.
I’ve known her since she
was born, thrown
into the world.
Her first steps,
first words,
first school and
friends.
She developed
with depression
because my friend
abused her.
Attacked her verbally,
emotionally,
mentally.
It seemed harder for
her to get over
it since her mother
was also depressed.
Depression consumed
her, dictated her life.
But slowly,
she changed.
She was more happy.
More alive.
Maybe it was the
help she was
getting. Maybe it's
the fact she's just finally
opening up.
She went to the school
I taught at.
I was able to see
that blossoming
happiness radiate.
Her joy was perfect, yet
she was so shy.
The crowd she drew
was also perfect for her,
happy, smart, kind
people.
Perfect for her. It was
almost like she wasn’t
depressed.
The sad reminder was
therapy,
the noticeable scars on her
wrists, the
distrust of being alone.
