I find that the depression is hiding. It lurks behind the protection the darkness of the forgotten corners of my mind offers. It is waiting for the appropriate time to strike. To take its hold of me while I find myself at my lowest point, the only thing keeping me from ending it all the light reflecting off the cold metal of my blade. The blade that offers me ruby red solace when nothing else works. It dulls the pain, the sharpness in the noises that surround my being constantly. It sets my mind at ease. The only thing I can focus on is the sting of the blade running over my pale skin before the crimson sadness seeps from my body. All of the ugly words and thoughts flowing out with it. The words and thoughts that once were nothing but smidgens of ideas and mumbles that grew and grew until they exploded into something that not even I can recognize. And it calms me. No longer am I a slave to the anxiety that used to rule my life with an iron grip. For that cold, metal blade offers me control. The control that I could not manifest for myself.