(writing noises)
- Dear depression, we go way back.
I remember the first time I met you.
I was seven years old, a pig-tailed lover of books,
teased for the sneakers my mother could barely afford.
The second time I met you was at a house party
where a stranger packed himself into my mouth.
It was the first time I understand the word ugly.
We met again when I learned I had lupus
and found out my body now belonged
to an incurable disease and again,
when I was sad for the 49th day in a row.
I begged you to go away, but you would not leave.
You, depression, are my childhood friend.
The midnight voices in my head, a slick tongue.
You pretend to have the answers,
but loving you got me sick,
got me suicide-watched, got me blue happy pills.
Find the nearest ledge, you say.
Walk out, you say.
Suspend, you say.
Wouldn't I be happier dead?
Yesterday, I cried enough to name myself the sad girl again.
Lonely has developed an authority
where my thoughts are family.
Always fussing about the wrong I have done,
about the pretty I've burned.
What I learn of sadness is from you.
You told me boys won't love me,
but a fastened rope can.
You tell me lupus is incurable.
Can't have seven children,
can't be hospitalized three times in one year,
and call that killing.
You, a contradiction, a house of lies.
Sickness can do that.
It can lie, it can claw.
My sadness will not cease.
It will not quiet, and I am afraid to die.
I am afraid to die.
Depression is a house of teeth.
It will write you into a story without rest.
It will kin you,
comb your mouth into a beautiful haunting
and name it a vacant wilderness.
But dare yourself, extraordinary human,
to run into joy screaming,
"you cannot have me."
You cannot have me.
I am not my past.
I am worthy of love, I am worthy.
I am forgiving myself for not being strong enough
to believe in myself.
I can tell you, I do not know who my father is.
I can tell you, a best friend's father molested me.
I can tell you the number
of men I let crawl into my body,
but I would rather tell you I am letting go.
I am letting failure go.
I am letting loneliness go.
I will not give up.
You will not silence me.
Sincerely, Tanya.
(music)