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 k**ing 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