I was young when I first met her -
a teenager, and getting a hang of it.
I'd like to think I smiled more, back then.

I don't recall much before her -
even the little I remember feels surreal.

I had just experienced the sweetness of a first love -
staying up all night speaking on the phone,
exchanging silly, cute love messages read on the internet.
It was adorable, I tell myself.
Teenage love often is.

Then I met her.
She was quiet, and timid.
We barely saw each other -
but she was always on my mind.

At first, she'd only visit in the evenings.
As we grew closer to each other, she was around more.
She would swoop me away from friends -
she was jealous, and wanted me only to herself.
I was not cognisant of how jealous her love was.

She hated it if I was smiling, or laughing without her.
She hated it when I went to visit places without her.
She would be mad at me, if I did anything without her,
and I would cry myself to sleep.

So, to love her best and to make her happy;
I stopped smiling, or laughing without her.
I stopped going to places without her.
And I cried to sleep, even if she was not mad at me.

When I met her, she never gave me her name.
But I asked, I had to know her name.

Her name is Depression,
and I wish I never met her.