Monsters hide everywhere. Behind doors, under floor boards, or even in the dark places of your mind and tell you “you’re not good enough”.

Monsters have names too, not the ones that go bump in the night or jump out and yell “Boo!”, but the ones that are bred from emotions. It’s the dark black ones, like tar, filling every hole until that hole is a half. And you, a withered shell of a kid left after a laugh, and all because you told someone you thought was close enough to feel what you feel.  You told them with tears in your eyes “I’m hurting, and this hurt is deep”, but then after spilling your heart and soul into words, for once you mistake the voice in your head for the one you yell at the world. You try to fit in, and are told “sorry, I can’t help you, tell someone else”. But who else can I tell, when you’re the only one left I can tell, about depression. Am I alone, or does this monster make me alone?

-Ryan Sterenberg