I've let melancholy permeate my epidermis
It resonates with every word and I'm stirred awake at night
Because my mind is but a pendulum that oscillates
It swings from grief that suffocates
To brevity my voice can't shake
I stutter when I speak 'cause I'm still so weak
I guess the notion of content has always felt incongruent
But it took a long time to be honest with myself
About the solipsistic attitude I take towards my health
Oh, how it pains me to admit it
But I'm far from self-sufficient
My independence stolen
By persistent mental illness
Please, don't mistake my silence for ignorance
I'm trying to be better at this
But I'm sick and tired of self-abusing
And making excuses for why
I hesitate to lead a life that should elate me
I'm remind daily that my depression can't be justified
But I can't seem to quieten down my mind
I've always been ashamed to say that maybe I need help
But it's either that, or face the fact I may end up killing myself
I can't tell if I'm a coward for being scared to leave
Or if I'm brave for staying when I'm riddled with worry
So, this is an open letter to myself in ten years' time
I'm sorry if you're not around to read this
I swear that I tried
