What You Took

   There are so many things you took away from me, too many things to properly be able to count them all. So many that I could write page after page, and still not get close to the real amount.
   You took away my capability of feeling happiness without questioning it. Do I have the right to be happy, the person who's sick with an illness that people associate with the deepest sadness there is? Am I really happy, or am I fooling myself again?
   You took my ability to trust without constantly testing people's love for me. You made it so hard for me to trust in people all together, to believe that there was good in them, just because of the few bad things a few people put me through.
   You took my ability to cry, to laugh, to talk about real things. With anyone. Even to be with someone who shares their feelings with me, makes me uncomfortable and I don't have any idea what to do to help them.
   You made it harder for me to smile, to leave my apartment, to enjoy things I used to love. You made it harder for me to love food, to try new things, to belive there was something good in me, to believe in my talents and my gifts.
   But I'm finally realizing something very, very important. There's nowhere for me to go but up. I can only get better. I have to fight for it, but I can only get better.
   Slowly but surely I'm starting to realize my worth and my talents. I'm starting to feel real happiness without having to question myself at every turn. I can finally trust people again, little by little I trust people again. Because despite what you're telling me, not everyone wants to hurt me, to use me for their own good, and I finally know it. I have started laughing again, started singing even though people can hear me. I feel comfortable wearing the clothes I like, the makeup I like. I no longer hate myself for not fitting in.
   Slowly, I start to enjoy food again. I like the things I used to love again. I like my drawings, my texts and my work. I can look at pictures of myself and actually think I'm pretty, that I look good. I can see the sparkle returning to my eyes, slowly but surely I'm getting better. I'm fighting again, and no matter how many times you knock me on my ass, I'll get up and fight harder.
   Because now I'm determined. I'm going to get better. Dear depression, I'm going to get back everything you took from me, and then some.