after hours in that bright white cell, I came to a conclusion. They call people
like me ‘depressed,’ but it goes deeper than that. It’s as if your soul has
been ripped from you, and people keep trying to stitch over the wound, but the
blood dissolves the thread like acid. Depression, it’s not something we have, it’s something we almost are. As if it manifests like a virus
inside of us, devouring us so that we become
the ‘virus.’ It’s like the way people don’t like to talk or hang around with
people who have a disease. That’s why my parents stopped coming to visit, it
was damaging their reputation, the suicidal daughter. I know that my tag in
society has become ‘the suicidal daughter.’ It was like when I tried to take my
own life, I took my own name as well. Now I am ‘the suicidal daughter.’ When
people meet my parents, they’re all ‘how’s the suicidal daughter?’ in hushed
tones. Damn them all.

The End

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