From Lena

Dear You,

I was thinking about my impression of depression. It is like looking at the sun for too long. Even

once you look away, you can still see the spot where the painful, blinding sight of sun had once

been. It is a veil covering your tired eyes, altering all that reaches you to be seen as meaningless.

And what frustrates me the most is the memory of how real it felt. I wouldn't believe the promises

of better days that are to come. I felt as if I was at the core of the truth. As if I had removed the

deceiving layers of trivial world, friendships that were only a beautiful facade, love that never

lasted, goals that lost their sweetness once reached. I believed the reason why other people were

not as sad as I to be their blindness. They failed to realize there was no meaning to it all. They

were deceived by the arbitrary meaning we would assign to every little thing we do, to earn a living,

to eat food, the smell of coffee and spring.

Then there were days when I felt like a spoilt girl, who was given everything and failed to make

anything out of it. I remember being 16 years old, crying to my mother for I was given the

opportunities other children would deserve more. I was born into a safe country, to a loving family. I

believed all of it was well beyond what I would deserve. It escalated gradually. Symptoms familiar

to you would appear, yet they are all so elusive. How can you escape blaming yourself for the

sadness, insomnia, irritability, suicidal ideation, when you believe to be the only source of it.

Viruses are easy to blame, or that paper that gave you your paper-cut. But who can you blame

other than yourself when your feel your own mind inflicting the pain you wish to escape.

I can tell that it is not you. I know now, as you gradually get better, you can feel the bell jar lifting. It

can be a bell jar, a dark cloud, a dense fog, a blackbird nesting in your brain. You can sense it as it

lifts, as it flies away. Only once you get better you realize how fragile you were under this call-it

what-you-like that was beyond your control. But you truly only need to wait. You don't believe me, I

know you can't. And I don't blame you. Trust me, trust your future self. I can only vaguely know

what you're going through, but had I have the arms the size of the sky I would reach for you and let

you know, it will be alright. One morning, the cloud will be gone. You will once again hear how

lovely this favorite song of yours is. And just how good can chocolate really taste. Oh, and don't

forget the coffee. It'll smell amazing once more.

You are beautiful.

Yours,

Lena