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    Dear Depression...

    This is my goodbye.

    A girl leans against the airing cupboard door. She is my shadow, her face stained and sticky with tears, her heart slowly tearing in half. It is 2015, a hot summer night, stifling everyone. The heat does not stifle the girl: she already feels suffocated. She picks up a pen and a notebook, and squinting through the dark, this is what she writes:

    Who are you? Are you a human? A thing? I know who you are. You are the murderer who sticks knives into my heart and soul. I can feel the pain twisting, gnarling inside me. Yet you will not allow me to die. You are the crane that smashed down my wall of safety. You are the tear in my eye, pretending to be warm, to know everything, but no. You are a murderer, a thief, a destructive creature, but also a beggar.

    You invaded my life, requesting food and water. I gave it to you. You asked for more until you grew big. Bigger than me. You took my food and water for yourself, and as you grew big, I grew small.
    You were not satisfied with this. I still had a lot in life: a loving family, friends, a fine enough reputation. You took all three. I lashed out at the people that were not you, the people that cared, when all the time it was you I was yelling at, you I was screaming "Leave me alone!" at. I began to become like you. I cut down my family to the bone, shouted at my friends, turned people against me.

    You are a serial killer, whoever you are. You have taken so many lives. I have to say, you've certainly done well. But I am here to tell you one thing. You may tell me to yell, cry, lay sleepless at night. But I am going to ignore you, because I can.

    You have never had that option because you thrive on me. Instead of casting those I love aside, I'll cast you aside. When I find you have died from lack of my food, I shall kick your bones into the gutter, to rot there, where they belong. You do not own me. I own you.

    So I shall cut you down as you did to me, because I am a person worthy of love and care. But you? You are worthy of nothing. Because I am, and always will be, better than you.

    I know who you are. You are not human nor creature. You are the looming dark shadow, and I know your name.
    You, my friend, are depression.

    The girl gets up and walks quietly, silently, through the dark and back into her bedroom. She sighs, dries her tears and then lies down, shuts her eyes and slowly drifts away, fragment by fragment. She turns from a shadow to a person filled with light and hope.

    She wakes the next morning, her tears gone from her face. Her blue eyes are no longer filled with misery - now they bear hope. She awakens with a smile. This is the day it will all get better. This is the day she will heal. This is the day where her happiness returns, and she knows it.

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