The first thing that greets you in the world is bars.

Strong, iron bars surrounding you on all sides.

It grips your heart so tight that you’ve learned to breathe beneath it.

It’s there when you laugh and there when you cry.

It’s there when you feel like you’ve finally succeeded, reminding you that that it’s fake.

It’s there when you feel like drowning in a flood of confusion and hurt, joining you in pain.

It’s worse because suddenly everyone says that have it too.

So you’re hopeful, desperately longing to understand.

But then you realize it’s nothing but a game to them.

And when you wake up and feel like you can’t breathe,

You can’t understand how anyone in the world would want to have these iron bars.

And it’s not sadness.

It’s not despondency.

It’s a weight on your chest and a fog in your mind.

It’s getting worse.

Help.