The funny thing about depression is its ignorance. You are convinced there is nothing left, not even a speckle of light left amidst days spent in sunlight. Life seems miserable. Your heart aches. Your mind is blurred. You know, there was this house I used to pass everyday on my way home. A small little broken cottage, right in the middle of acres and acres of burnt yellow grass. I would begin to dream about that house, finding myself attracted to it like bees to a flower. My mind would create the perfect scenario. I would run away, one day, and go to that house, god knows do what once I got there. Some days I left a bag packed just in case, some days different instruments to play out an orchestra of demise. I was obsessed with death, the idea I needed to die. I was convinced I had lost life, that I was just an empty shell of what I used to be.I'll be honest now, you are a coward if you want to commit suicide. You don't quit on life. You don't throw this life away, just because it goes horribly wrong. You don't look at the clouds; the way they drift into another, or the sun; burning your eyes shut, and think for a second that this isn't life. This is life. This is wonder. This is redeeming, what I used to think was strength and courage; believing. Strength is not being able to give away your life because its unbearable. Strength is holding your hands clasped so tightly, they go numb. Its a prayer to a god that may or may not exist, the one who can save me. Strength is taking the coldest part of your heart, and forcing it to beat again. Strength is life and love.