I remember the end of 5th grade as if it was yesterday.

I annoyed my mother to death about my perfect grades. On a grading scale of 1 to 4, four being the highest, I had received all threes and fours. This wasn't the first time, but since it was my last report card for elementary, I felt like I deserved something.

Something to represent a new beginning.

I wanted to receive some sort of reward for my grades. Although she doesn't believe in rewards for those type of things, she finally caved in. We went to the nearest store and she bought me a toy: a yoyo.

I was thrilled. I had a new toy (that my brother notably didn't want to play with), and it all felt like a great day.

Then the yoyo broke on the front step of my apartment building.

The store was only a few blocks away from my home, but I guess it wasn't made to last longer than that. I looked at my mom and her face told me that I wasn't getting a new reward.

I remember that small walk on the way back home with the yoyo. I couldn't understand how to make it go up and down, the way the cool people did in the commercials.

Nevertheless, I went along with the rest of my day and I forgot about the yoyo. I threw it away as soon as it was useless to me.

...That's how I feel. I feel like the yoyo.

I don't feel like that constantly, but usually during my depressive episodes...which are pretty often.

I was pretty great when I was "bought", I'm guessing. Fresh out of the package, and cool to play with.

The years that followed after were the walk home. My family and others who were close adored me, but as the walk continued, I started to change. I couldn't be understood, no matter how hard they tried.

I believe I'm currently at the front of the apartment building, post-damage.

The string's detached with no possibility of being attached once again. I'm still in someone's hand.

They're still holding me.

They're still deciding if they should throw me away or not.

The difference between the two situations is that as a kid, I didn't understand the connection between that toy and my new beginning.

I only thought of it as a toy. I didn't realize how important the yoyo should've been, whether broken or brand new.

The walk for all my loved ones has been longer. About 18 years, to be exact. They've all connected with me somehow and now that I'm broken…I'm harder to throw away.

To me, it's not a question of if they'll throw me away, but when.

The idea of throwing the yoyo away gives both parties closure.

I shouldn't be remembered the way I was after I was broken.

I want to be remembered the way I was when I was bought.

When I was played with and adored and treasured and loved.

...I'm not the same person anymore since the diagnosis and it's apparent.

My best friend told me she doesn't know who I am anymore.

...I don't know, either.