You are not the storm you make out to be, the crack between sanity and reality. I understand the jumble of words inside that corrupted mind of yours as it tries so hard to complete the picture. Your words shouted out without thought, hoping to discover the illness of your days. Let me tell you that it will be okay, that every mystery comes down to the depression chipping away at your shoulder, devouring every last piece of self esteem. But do not fear as this crippling feeling deep inside you will perish over time. Take this from me, an impaired person refusing to let death inside every appointment I walk into. I have taken so long to acknowledge the painful reality that depression cannot be cured by a simple pill over night. It takes countless nights of staring at empty ceilings, corrupted thoughts at train stations, and numbed out screams for help. The road out may not be an easy one, but it is a pathway we must take.