Young and naive, she thought there was something wrong with her because she was sad all the time. Either she needed fixing or she was broken beyond hope.
She wore her depression like a cloak of invisibility. Desperate for attention yet hidden away. Unable to release the clasp at her throat. Let go of the heavy wet wool dragging her down.
She could take it off but she was afraid of being naked cold, vulnerable. Seen.
She would cry herself to sleep every night. The cat, her only comfort, licked away salty tears, purred reassurances, listened to all of her secrets.
When was it that someone would finally say,
"You're normal.
You're different.
And that's okay."
