Dear God,
How can I talk to you? Why does it feel empty sometimes. Maybe it’s just a reflection of my soul.
I think of my depression. How it snuck up on me like the boiling of a frog in hot water.
I assume the knob starting turning in middle school. Each degree an issue that wasn’t quite settled right. Never knowing why my biological father didn’t see me again. Wondering why I could never be as smart and pretty as my stepsister.
Why I’ve always been alone.
I thought the loneliness didn’t bother me. Since middle school I’d skip lunch and go to the library, alone. I read Edgar Allan Poe. Annabel Lee spoke to me on some level. No one else ever did.
I’m tired of being isolated. I want friends (as much as a geeky introvert can) and I want you.
I want you to look at me and see yourself reflected back. Rid me of this dark depression, this melancholy that soaks up all the light. Return me to that little girl. The one true self of my selves. Who you created me to be. She reaches out in that darkness to you. Please answer me.
Your daughter,
F
(not mine but this fits the mood)
