4~Breaking point between the truth

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That night, sleep refused me. I sat in the dark, my chest heavy, my mind louder than thunder. And then—something strange happened.

Out of the silence, a figure appeared. It wasn’t real, I knew that. But in the shadows of my room, it felt real enough.

The figure sat across from me, faceless, shapeless—yet I knew its name.

“Why are you here?” I whispered.

It tilted its head, as if amused. “You called me,” it replied, though its lips never moved.

I knew then who it was. Depression. The shadow that had been following me all along.

“I didn’t call you,” I said, shaking. “I never wanted you.”

It laughed without sound. “You didn’t have to. I come when nobody else does.”

My throat tightened. “Why me?”

It leaned closer, and though it had no eyes, I felt its gaze pierce through me. “Because you were alone. Because nobody cared. And I… I am the only one who does.”

The words cut deep, because in a way, they felt true. Depression had been with me when no one else stayed. It listened when the world turned away. It sat with me in silence, wrapped around me like a heavy blanket.

And yet, it was not a friend. It was a chain.

I wanted to fight it, but my body was tired, my spirit weak. So I just stared at the shadow and whispered, “Will you ever leave me?”

It smiled—a smile I couldn’t see but could feel. “That depends. Do you ever believe someone will care enough to replace me?”

I had no answer.

The figure faded, melting back into the silence. But its words stayed, carved deep inside me.

That night I realized something terrifying: sometimes the only thing that stays with you is the very thing destroying you.

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