Growing up with a father,
Blinded by his own pain,
I became the parent;
His shelter from constant rain.
Dried up his tears,
Floods only became clouds.
I couldn't help him like I wanted.
I let him down.

I love my brother,
But I can't see him anymore.
My younger brother
Chose a life of war.
Him against the world,
I couldn't take it anymore.
Everything I had
I gave and he tore.

It's so painful
To watch them choose to drown.
I had tried it for a while,
But I refuse to keep myself down.
I write, because I have depression.
It runs in my family.
It affects the people I love,
And my own beloved sanity.

I write, because I know there are others.
I know they will understand.
I write for those others,
So I can take them by the hand.
I'll take the time
To let them know.
Yes, we are in pain,
But we are not alone.



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