Writing is my only method of therapy. I was hoping that that through expressing myself the best way I know how, I could find an avenue of solace.
My 50 something British pen-pal who is married with two daughters, has shown much empathy and understanding on the unpopular topic of depression. She queried on what triggered my mental breakdown.
I tried to explain as honest as I could in my 3rd letter, but I couldn’t bring myself to finish it. Barely on the 2nd page, I was already crying and my chest tightening. I could no longer continue. I reread my own writing.

Although I know I was being very truthful, I couldn’t believe that my testimony is real. It can’t be true! I must have exaggerated to make myself seem the poor innocent victim!

My chest continues to tighten, tears continue to fall. I know I didn’t exaggerate. That’s why it hurts so much.

Maybe this method of therapy isn’t working as I hoped it would. Now, I dare not mail the letter. I wrote the truth therefore, it sounds just as crazy as my life. I can’t let my pen-pal read such thing.

Will I ever be capable of finding my own tiny share of peace and joy in this world?