I’ve had depression for a long time. Long even before i was diagnosed.

It spiralled out of control, as most things do, in my teen years. Attempting for the first time at 17, 18 the next, i was desperate to die.

But against the wishes of my teenage self, here i am, still alive at 25 years old.

The struggle with depression is long, it will get better, it will get worse. You heal, but it will never be over.

Recently my sister found all our childhood vhs tapes, home videos from when we were young, from when i was just a baby.

Weddings, parties, various events, Christmases and birthdays. Recorded like a fuzzy memory with a date burned into the corner.

It was strange, watching people i had last seen sick and on their deathbed, or even passed on, all happy and smiling.

Weirder yet was when we watched the first video i properly appeared in.

Watching that baby laughing, kicking its feet, putting all the effort into trying to roll over on its own…

I felt like i had left my body entirely. That my body, consciousness and the screen were all out of place.

I couldnt beleive that that baby was the same being that would later, scream, cry and beg to be let go. To just leave already.

All i could think of was that tiny body, taking knives to its wrists and teetering off bridges.

That night i dreamed of that baby, screaming in pain, lying at my feet. I dont know if i wanted to apologise, or smother it to save it the pain of a life not so well lived.

What i do know, is that i woke up, and forced myself to live another day. To keep going.

Maybe to make it up to them. To apologise. To me, 24 years and 5-6 months ago.​