MDD

I define myself within the context of you

I don't know which of us came first.

I love pain like you taught me to

I hope I please you. I hope I make you proud.

I am, if nothing else, a devotee

a servant.

I am awed by the white knuckle grip you have had over my whole life, before I could even see the way your fingers covered my eyes.

I hurt myself to be closer to you,

do you know that?

do you see me?

the way I pull a trash bag around my head and take shallow, slow breaths until black plastic presses into my mouth and eyes.

This is the way you love me.

I was seven the first time I wrote a will and parting notes to my friends.

I was eight when I told my dad I didn't want to be alive.

I didn't have a chance.

Maybe even as a kid I never wanted one.

There is a grim satisfaction in the certainty of getting what you deserve.