I never really thought of myself as depressed.
Hell, my family certainly didn't talk about mental health. But even as a child, I've just always felt different, like there was a separation between me and the world. Imagine being an observer of your...
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Dear... well me,
Sometimes, I see you in my head.
I envision you trapped in a cage surrounded by all the things you used to love. Your encircled by all the things you once thought adulthood would bring you. A career in art, love, marriage, happiness...
Do you remember that day in first grade when we had to switch schools? You were crying quietly staring out the window because you didn't want mom to hear. It was the first time that you started hiding your pain. It was the start of you putting others' needs before your own. And every time after that, when those dark thoughts would begin, you would mutter, "but when I'm older..."
It became a mantra, a saving grace.
Yet, it wasn't true.
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For with age, came responsibility.
With age, reality smothered dreams.
With age, came the death of hopes, my depression.
And I ignored it.
Then, a bitterness took over, spreading like cancer. Until, all I could see was darkness. Art school would never happen, love was for other people, and solitude was better than joining in. Your goals withered, died with each dream lost until...
I lost me, us.
And I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for trading in dreams for stability.
I'm sorry for allowing the color to fade out of our life.
But mostly, I'm sorry for giving up on everything that you wanted.
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