Why do you still send me letters? I requested we never speak again yet your manipulative words continue to arrive in my mental mailbox. And I always open them. The subject line says, “reality,” to disguise the inherent lies that contrived it’s contents. Those lies which are so easy to believe but so difficult to digest; it is nearly impossible to make my brain believe my stomach.
I must have some kind of self-imposed Stockholm Syndrome because I still trust you despite your persistent verbal abuse. Why won’t you release the hope and strength you kidnapped from me? What good does it do you to torture my joy and curiosity?
I still write to them. I know you throw my letters away but I will still write to them. For every letter you tear up, two more will arrive at your door. Someday, I will have sent so many that they will break down your door. Then hope can bring strength back to curiosity and joy will surely follow. Because where there is joy there can be no sorrow. Where there is hope there can be no doubt. Where there is strength there can be no failure. Where there is curiosity there can be no fear.
Because where there is me there will be no depression.