“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,
About this
I can already tell you aren’t listening.


“Some days my depression is small, like a firefly in the mouth of a lion.
Other days, it’s the lion.”

You don’t acknowledge me.

“Firefly days aren’t so bad.
Tolerable.
Lion days, however, I call dark days.
It’s not like i fear the dark, and maybe that’s my problem, but I’ve gotten so used to it, it’s like a friend almost.
A toxic friend, slowly consuming me to the point where some days i am held captive in my own bed.
Some days i cannot eat.”

“I thought your problem was laziness.” You say going back to ignoring me.

“If that was the problem I wouldn’t have marks on my wrist that you know don’t come from a cat.
We don’t even have a cat and you know there is something wrong and you refuse to acknowledge it and for what?

Your dignity?

The same dignity that prohibits me from loving who I want because the rest of the world may not agree with it?

The very same dignity that killed your own daughter because you were too proud to get her the help she needed?

Oh, right.

That was my fault.

The same way it is my fault you’re stuck with two kids you didn’t want.

The same way it’s not your fault i tried to take my own life.

Because I was selfish.

Selfish for trying to rid you of burdens that you don't even carry.

I'm sorry I'm not enough for you.