Dear Depression

Dear Depression,

I have a confession to make – I don’t like you very much right now. Like mud on white sneakers, trying to wipe you off has made the mess worse lately.

And you’ve made the bottle become more than just the fun I have always intended. You’ve turned it against me.

I’ve been wandered around, continuing to do my own thing but acting foolish, not really understanding that it’s been you causing my uptick in recklessness. It’s been you making me regretful. You’ve intensified the chaos and pain.The drinks, the use, the blackouts and the tears – it’s been you all along.

One minute I’ll feel impenetrable, like nothing in this world could hurt me, but the next, my emotions are beating outside my chest, exposed to the elements of your storm.

This life with you has been profound and painful. Sometimes it’s been too much to bear. You’ve started to seep through the cracks. I though hiding you would one day result in the disappearance I seek.

And I’ve gotten close at times but the extra weight on my back has always been there. Noticeable like a mosquitoes on a warm summer day, a nuisance. Your weight has left me breathless.

You’ve made me live an examined life.

As a man, I’ve spent too much time worrying about your appearance in my life.

I’ve turned into a mess, living in a seemingly well put together walls. I have every reason to be happy.

But I’m not. I miss purpose. I miss her. All of the hers. I miss the moments prior to fucking everything up. I miss the words I never said. The actions I never made. The choices that went unseen.

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