A letter for depression, the illness that tries to kill me and, strangely, gives me reasons to stay alive, too. Depression, thank you for helping me recognize when I need to step back and take care of myself
My playroom in preschool had an empty wheelchair for us to play with. It was usually occupied; everyone wanted to play in it because it was different. Even at four or five years old I was aware of the power it brought about.
Q: I'm just wondering, what made you want to do what you're doing now?



