Before I let go

From the street below, you look fearless.

Arms outstretched against the wind, long ginger curls whipping behind you, you stand on the ledge of a twelve-story building while the city blurs into gold and shadow beneath your feet. To strangers, it might look like freedom.

But this isn't freedom.

It's a cage in your own mind.

20 years old and already imagining a life where you don't have to exist.

A detective nonetheless. You have a badge. You have a gun you can defend yourself with. You know how to read a crime scene in under two minutes. You know how to disarm a suspect. You know how to psychoanalyse a criminal and still your biggest danger is your own mind.

Depression doesn't care what you do for a living. It doesn't care how loved you are or how wanted you are by the people around you.

Somehow it always manages to twist the reality. It twists evidence in your mind until every mistake becomes proof. Every silence becomes abandonment. Every exhausted breath becomes weakness.

It builds a case against you so airtight you start to believe that the verdict is final.

Guilty of being too much.
Guilty of not being enough.
Guilty of being tired.
Guilty of never being able to save everyone.

Everyone thinks you're strong because you smile but that's exactly what depression does, pretending until you can't pretend anymore.

The question isn't whether someone notice or not. The question is will you fight or will you let yourself lose?