Why me? Is my first question. I never thought that I would be the one to get hit so hard. Do you loathe me so much that you want me dead? I don’t think I’m that bad. I have my imperfections like my bitchy remarks I make to everyone without even noticing. My crater-y skin that makes me hate myself more and more every time I scrub my clay like make up off every night. My belly that I haven’t been able to work off since I was a baby. I hate the way my eyes squint when the sun is too bright and how I’ll never be anyones first choice. I have never been held lovingly in a boys arms, only toyed with then left raw. I never want to be touched, because I feel unworthy, thanks to you, my Major Depressive Disorder. Why is my mind constantly clouded with ways to off myself or send myself into a spiral of disaster? Fuck you depression. I’ve about had it with all the negativity. I’ve dealt with your shit for far too long. I went from being a happy, peppy, free- spirited young girl, with long, blond hair, and curious brown eyes to a sad, pathetic excuse for a young lady. Will I have to surrender to your brute strength for the rest of my life? Will I have to spend the rest of my days alone with only the company of my misery? Can’t you allow me to see just for a moment that life is a beautiful, tender and exciting thing? Is that so much to ask for?