Depression, though we have met many times before, this year has been full of non-stop visits from you, and it has been an exceptionally hard year for me.

Things took a turn for the worst this year when I started to fall apart on the outside. My body was growing weak and it was showing. Depression, we met at doctor’s visits, where I had unexplained chronic pain. We met when I could not eat, I could not sleep, and I could not even pretend to be happy anymore. We met when I dropped a significant amount of weight from all that my body had been through.

We met every time I told myself that I was not sad enough. We met every time I said that I could handle it, because I had been able to bottle up all my emotions for so incredibly long. We met every time my loved ones asked me to go get help, but I would not go. We met every time I left my dearest friends with the burden of knowing I was not okay, but not getting the help that I so desperately needed.

We met every time you wanted me to hurt myself. We met the nights when I snapped rubber bands against my wrists. It feels so bad, yet so good. I would say. We met the night I first decided to hold a knife and gently glide my fingertips along its sharp edges. We met the first night I decided to saw away at my own skin, and each time after that.

We met during the times I had questioned - Why am I still here? Is it actually all still worth it?

We met even after I was finally going to therapy, because I had to finally admit that I was not okay. We met before I realized relapse did not mean failure. We met before I realized that this is a fight I will be fighting for many, many more days to come.

We met just last night around two o’clock in the morning. You walked me into the bathroom. With watered eyes, and a pink nose, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, shook my head and whispered that I am not worthy of friendship. I do not matter.

Depression, you have had wrapped your arms around me so many times. You rocked me and held me when I thought no one else was there. You loved me when I thought no one else could. You made me feel like you were the answer; the one I could turn to.

But I am learning differently now.

Depression, know this - I am fighting everyday. I am choosing recovery everyday. I will continue to fight for the meaningful life that I am meant to have. Depression, you are not my comfort, you are not my shelter, and you are most certainly not my protector.

You do not define me, and I will not cease until you are a story of my past.