I feel no one understands this sickness. This eating glutton that first started at your feet, like a puddle you accidentally stepped in. It crawls up your legs and it doesn't matter how tall you are, it gets to you just as fast. Some don't know when it's coming. Others feel it only when it reaches their brain. And the rest, don´t know it exists.  

   For most of my early years I never understood why my mom hated me. I thought that hitting your child with a belt or full force was normal. A seven year old couldn’t understand even if you told them. It wasn’t until I was ten that I learned every hit and word and beating that was told or put on me, wasn’t supposed to happen.

   That’s when I felt the sickness. It was too late. Once I knew my life was horrible and it could get worse, I became sad and fed into myself. 

“You’re worthless just like your mother told you.”

“You were never supposed to be born.”

“You can’t do anything right.”

“Just stop trying.”

   The sickness doesn't stop. It goes on and on and on. Till you end it. But there’s some people you can vent to, that you can tell every bad thing that happened to. Because that’s their job. They make you better. Over time of course. They give you drugs that make you happy again, and forget all the bad memories. 

   But when the drugs stop working. When the pills run out. That’s when the black pool of pain and suffering floods your brain and you can’t get out. You try to breathe, but every breath you take, you inhale the plague. It enters your body and controls you like a parasite. You feel your body curl as you sink to what used to be the white heaven you called home. And your friends and family try to pull you out, or help you breathe. You push them away because they’ll never feel your pain. They’ll never feel what you felt. 

   People laugh at you in class. Making fun of suicidal people. Just because you said one thing about your past. Now you’re scared to open up. Now you don’t want to go to that nice man or woman that gave you drugs and wrote notes down about your past. That man or woman that reported the bad people and made them go away. That trust left that black pool you’re sinking in.

   Then it gets better. Or not. Depends on the person. If it gets better, cherish those moments. Hold onto them because once it gets bad again you have something to help you float. Use skills that you love. Build that boat. Sail that black sea and wait for it to get bright again. Once it finally drains, you will feel like yourself again. 

   Just know. If it gets worse. There’s always someone there for you. You will build your boat. And if it's a small boat, it's ok. It will get bigger. You will get stronger. You just have to wait for the sickness that grows.

~~KRW