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She was 4. She never knew what made love different then what her parents had. She thought love was what made depression spread through their veins like wildfire. She thought love was what was laying above her pillow as she tried to drown out the screaming matches. She was 8. She never knew what to call the tremble in her hands or the quiver in her throat. She thought to call it Ruby because it painted her a shade of blushing red every time she had to speak. She thought that every one defined silence as terrifying, people as fears, and living as anxiety. She was 14. She never knew that her balancing act had a name. She thought that her stomach being tied down the center with a tight rope was just simply her. She thought that all of the fear and hate and insecurity could never be called something so technical as depression. She was 16. She never thought she would ever get better, but instead begin to slip away. She thought that despite the medications and the countless tears her world was just meant to be a blaze with crippling abnormality. She thought that depression wasn’t worth fighting through when it was her name at stake. She made her world a book of definitions. Silence- (n) terrifying sign that worlds will begin to crash around me People- (n) fears wrapped up in layers of things that they are not but wish to be Life- (n) an earthquake in your chilled bones and a chain on your gentle voice Love- (n) without it, life will be a natural disaster, people will forever be walking insecurities, and silence will be terrifying She plastered these words inside her mind like wallpaper, leaving her numb in the silence of fearing that people will not love a person with such twisted definitions on what she sees around her. So amidst the blazing wildfires of depression and shaking worlds of anxiety she lived quietly in a silence that forever left her eyes screaming, but she continued on waiting for someone to choose to love her.
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