Speaking from the Belly of The Beast: A depression letter.
Dear Depression, I wake up in the morning feeling overtired and stiff as a board, and the day has barely begun. I touch my face, and I feel the wetness of the tears that have blurred my once perfect vision. There were so many thoughts swimming through my mind. So many in fact, that it is almost impossible to differentiate between fact and fiction. You have been making deals with the devil so often that I begin to believe exactly what he has fed into my already disease-ridden mind. Every step I take towards normalcy and betterment is a hit to your heart. I know you do not want to see me even begin to become slightly better. You cannot survive without sucking every inch of air from my lungs. You cannot survive without the berating thoughts teeming through every pour and leaking from every vein. Your end goal is sick and twisted, yet I understand it with a perfect and keen eye. You have ravaged me so completely and so deeply that I now can see your motive with clear eyes and