I didn’t know the truth but for some reason I was scared to talk about what was happening with someone. Now I am scared to tell someone because people only want to hear the good, the funny, the lies. There’s this deep dread within me but nobody knows about it. No one can know about it. The truth is socially unacceptable; it makes people feel sad. I feel sad every second but my feelings mean nothing to this world.

Love was foreign as long as I remember. There was never any sort of attachment, a belonging to my parents. My mom always worked. My father always sat in the kitchen smoking a cigarette and sipping coffee in his underwear. By the time I entered kindergarten a darkness distressed my heart.

Year after year melancholy overwhelmed my core’s naivete . I grew stubborn and wary of life before entering high school. I knew what life meant. There are these sort of expectations and milestones in society that I wasn’t ready for, and am still not. I’ll never be ready. My depression afflicts all parts of my life.

In society there is a stigma attached to mental illness. Sure, there are people taking advantage of depression. We scream mercilessly in agony. Waking up and falling asleep are burdens. The numbness, seeping in our veins, crucifies the human consciousness. But there’s people who think it’s funny to hide behind depression. It gives them an excuse to be lazy. I can’t really blame them; everyone likes the easy way out. Karma is a bitch though. Nobody will ever understand the pith of depression except for those who have it. Thus it causes the outside world to misunderstand and to use it against us. A depressed person isn’t lazy until he or she commits suicide. Lifting our head off the pillow and closing our eyes are practically full time jobs.

My sister and brothers never were hit. Just me. Why? Why always me? Why did everyone have the right to hit me? Why did Daddy and Mommy always hit me and not them?

Mommy take me to Bring Your Child to Work Day. Wait, why can’t you? You brought Sister last year. Why can’t you bring me this year? You told me you would. Why can’t you have it? But you’re the boss though! Just make it!

Why can they sit on the couch and not me? Why do I always have to sit on the floor? I want to sit on the couch! I don’t care, I want to sit on the couch now! The floor hurts. Why do I have to get yelled at for wanting to sit on the couch?

Is it my turn yet? But it’s my turn you have been playing all day. Let me play my game. Stop! What? But he’s been playing all day— Why can’t I have a turn?

Can I come? I want to go to Niagara Falls too. Because why? Why is it just for my Sister and Brother? Why won’t you bring me? I want to see the falls too.

I am always left behind, forgotten about. Teachers always skip my turn. Mommy always closes doors when I follow her in and out of stores. Daddy always forgets me in the car. Why am I so easily forgotten about?

I don’t know how to play with other kids. I don’t know them. Because they don’t talk to me. I don’t know. That’s why I sit here waiting for recess to end.

It didn’t get much better when I grew older. I felt like the same trapped mouse even in high school. There were countless lunches where I sat by myself. But after awhile I made a couple of friends, also loners. At least if they talked and didn’t feel alone it made my feelings tolerable. There was this one girl, probably the sweetest person, would talk to me about her stories. She tried not to let the other kids bother her, although I could see the pain deep inside. I didn’t have the focus like she did. She had a goal in mind. An ambition that I didn’t have, that I still don’t have.

What is beauty? Only judgement and preferences determine it. But self body image doesn’t falter because a rubric doesn’t exist. Regardless of looks, it’s difficult to live in this age where everyone compares and judges everyone. I was alone throughout high school. A lot of teachers complimented on my “beautiful blonde hair” or how pretty I was. But seeing my classmates date and going to parties, my self image diminished. Everyone just seemed so far away, alien-like. I wasn’t really a teenager. Was I scared? I don’t know.

The more I learned about the world the more I despised it: law, ideologies, politics, psychology, and so forth. Each one is bullshit. Dig deep, and there is nothing but a world of betrayal and lies. Putting faith in righteousness is complete ignorance. Who do I trust in this world of lies? How can I trust?

I don’t have an ambition in life. I can’t see myself making a difference in this pitiful world. I’m not particularly good in anything either. I definitely can’t live up to someone like Bill Gates. I wish I was intelligent or at least talented. However I still feel like I want to make a difference but who would listen? No one cares about a nobody.

Not one person would miss me if I just vanished or died. I am too lazy to wake up and fall asleep every night. I can’t seem to have the energy. I live just to breath. Nothing matters. I certainly don’t. My ideas and thoughts certainly don’t. I don’t have a single accomplishment next to my name. I don’t even have an I.D. and I am 20 years old. I suck at this game called Life. There is this deep sadness that just won’t disappear. It’s been with me for as long as I can remember.

I can’t live on… there’s too much dread. There’s just too much. I can’t handle it any longer. Dread…

—Suicide Letter.