Dear Depression,
Well, it's been quite a while since I last spoke to you. Remember the time I felt so down, so out of place, and wanted nothing more than to fade away from existence as I was continuously stabbed in the back because of you?
Or the times I used to spend on top of the scale to see how much I'd lost mass so I could look good? Maybe you might not remember the occasion when I used an earring's flap to trace lines on my wrist, not profound but also not faint so I could be reminded of the constant pain surrounding my chest. Or the time I laid eyes on a small dagger whose purpose wasn't that of cutting through skin, and even though I was highly tempted of doing so, it took another person to put a stop on my doings.
Causes that you've unwillingly placed in my mind. You started to eat up my positive ambiance, replacing it with a coal-colored veil that was invisible to those who surrounded me. My imagination clouded greatly because of your presence; those fantastical worlds I had created filled with endless possibilities and wonder soon were destroyed by a black hole that consumed my entire morale as a whole.
How can a small thing that you cause can mean the end of my past existence? How did you manage to extinct my positive and care-free personality by an event you decided to set loose on the mind of my father?
You're untamed, wild, and vicious. I've been horrified, intimidated, and controlled by you for a long time. I've seen how many pure souls you've managed to snatch away from the corporeal world for your own amusement. How the families of such individuals sunk down from their happy demeanors so they could fall in your grasp, right where you wanted them to be.
Eager to claim more victims.
At this point, you might be displeased. Your anger might be directed towards me, and that's reasonable. So far, all I've done is place the absolute blame on you, calling you a manipulator, a kidnapper, a villain.
But what can I say, when I've been punched by you before? Am I not one to say what I've suffered during my time connected with you? What you made me think, or do?
Thankfully, I did the right thing at the right time. Unlike you, I was able to speak out. Say what I was going through. And that, what I discovered on my own, is your weakness. It isn't playing fire with fire or pushing you on the deepest pits of our intellect so you won't bother us.
It's talking. You fear the words, "I think I have depression." You hate the sound of your own name being displayed against you. Depression, if anything, you fear the fact said soul managed to find a way to break the chains you've circled around our necks by doing something you deem impossible.
And that is how all these remnants, I included, managed to survive. We managed to walk through the battlefield filled with bombs, spikes, and guns that you placed strategically so we would be tied to you for as long as you wanted. I only pray that those who got stuck on the darkened pits will manage to let you see, someday, how you ruined their lives in every way possible.
So, yes. I am calling you a manipulator, a kidnapper, a villain. For all that I've learned and seen about you, I'm only hoping that one day, you'll be left out in the rain, alone, as you've always been, with no one else to keep chained.
