All I want is for someone to look into my eyes and see the pain I carry with me that I try to disguise. I want them to see beyond the facade. I want them to take me by the wrist, angle their head towards me in a gentle turn, and tell me they know I’m hurting. That’s all I want. An acknowledgment. For someone to see the real me that you can discern if you look at the way my irises have lost their luster or the heaviness that lines under my eyes.
Querida Depresión:
¿Porqué cada vez que pienso que estoy bien, tienes que venir a recordarme la mierda que soy?
