I sometimes feel like I have a story to tell...
but I’m no story teller.
I create!
When I can...
It comes and goes.
Like depression.
It’s not the first time that’s happened to me.
But it’s the first time I know what it is, what it feels like,
how it empties you, dries you out.
It only leaves behind an empty shell of yourself
that you have to work hard to refill.
This time I realised I couldn’t do it alone...
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There it is, the first page of my memoir...
"Breathe: a journal about my depression".
It's a work in progress...
My main language is French, so why am I doing this in English?
My therapist only speaks English. I have therefore, come to manage, study and express my emotions in English.
I am first and foremost, doing this for myself.
If this should ever see the light of day, in the form of a book, I hope it brings hope to people who read it.