Hi.
It’s that time of the month again, where you curl up in bed all day, thinking and overthinking. Regretting. Crying. Cursing at people, friends, family. It’s that time where you feel like you have never done anything right. You don’t deserve to be happy. And when you try to explain, they invalidate your emotions. Discard your feelings.
It’s that time of the month, where you recount lost opportunities. Jobs you could have applied for. Heights you could have achieved. You are angry. Angry at you, for never being good enough. Angry at the people you love, because when it all comes down to returning the love you so freely give, they’re not there. You’re angry at life. Angry at God, questioning his existence. Your existence.
It’s that time of the month. You want it all to end. You want to get rid of me. You try hard, sometimes I let you be but I always come back bigger, better and with more reasons to quit. You want to quit. I can feel it in you. You’ve tried, I’ll give you that. You’ve decorated yourself with scars. Scars that fade away, only to resurface, deeper than the last. That thin line you’re hanging on is cut loose. You’re floating. Floating. Floating. You don’t want to die, as much as you claim to. You just want to stop thinking. To stop feeling. You want me to leave.
It’s that time of the month and I’m here to remind you that when everyone is gone, when that little form of happiness you’re holding on to is gone, when you have no one to turn to, I’m here for you. You can’t get rid of me. You made me, from the depths of your dark mind. Born out of your darkest thoughts. Molded by your actions. Fed with lies. You cannot kill what you made. And when all is said and done, remember, Oluwatumininu, that you can’t stop yourself from opening my letters. You can’t stop the tears as you read, as you’re reminded of my loyalty to you.
With love,
Depression.
