I can remember being 12 years old, and writing poetry, rants, and short storys. I never imagined that they would become the darkest secrets of my past. I don't even remember when I began to be ashamed of what I was feeling, let alone writing about it. I can remember however without specific dates, when I began hiding my writings as if somoene would hate me if they knew. I remember feeling like I would be commited to a mental institution for feeling so sad and so depressed. This is pain I have dealt with alone for to many years. I am depressed, I don't know why. I don't understand the physiological reasons for this, although I am sure there are some explainations for it. I know that I have a very painful past. I have alot inside me that no one knows, some things, I don't even know at this time. I want to explore my mind, openly and boldly, while delving into the dark spots, I have tried to hide from all my life. Depression is an illness, that I live with, but it is not who I am. Please read all that you want, and find hope in your existance just as I have tried to find hope in mine. God Bless
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