I’ve been rooted with depression since I was born.

I never knew what it was, but I could feel the sadness and shame engulf my small body every time I heard that voice.

My dad, a shadow I occasionally saw on the walls, always fading down the hall.

Mom, trying to keep it all together for two girls she’d struggle to raise on her own.

The lies we were spoon fed about our father before we could even talk.

The mental and emotional abuse of the years that would follow from the person who raised me.

Afraid to be true to myself because I was told that everything I did was wrong, that I was dumb.

Asking questions I felt were important to me because anxiety and ocd rooted their way into my body before I was even a teen.

Learning to mask my feelings and emotions from that voice because I didn’t want to feel like there was something wrong with me.

I didn’t want you to see that there was something wrong with me.