My friends, old and new, dear and distant, I just want to say one thing to you today, and that is that I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for all the times I scared the ever-living **** out of you by dancing on ice or sitting on the edge of a cliff. Without you there to hold me up, I know I would have fallen. But when I took your hand, I could feel it shaking, your whole body tense, your face full of fear, and it was all because of me. I should have thought things through, I should have listened to you, but I couldn’t hear your warnings in the cacophony of my disaster. I apologize for the fear I instilled in you.
I’m sorry for all the times I broke your heart by speaking of death with such longing in my voice, as if I loved the idea of leaving more than I loved you. I wish I had not been so absorbed in my own darkness that I could not see your light. I wish I had realized sooner that I had to put up a fight. I wish I had taken up your offers to call you in the middle of the night, but I stayed silent. I married you all the moment we met, and yet I was lured into this scandalous affair with sadness. She wasn’t even that attractive, but she took me away from you, and I apologize for the heartbreak I caused.
I’m sorry for all the times I tried to thank you but utterly failed. How do you thank someone for keeping you alive? For holding you when you cry? For having faith when yours has run dry? You can’t. You just hope that your friends are getting something out of all of this and maybe it will be enough and maybe it won’t but by the way you all love me the way I never deserved it, it looks like it’s good enough for you. I just wish you knew that you are miracles to me. I apologize for the weakness of my gratitude.
I’m sorry for all the times when I broke, no, shattered, and you had to pick up the pieces.
I’m sorry for all the times I ****** thousand-pound weights into your arms without prior notice.
I’m sorry for apologizing.
But I have to, because depression never did.