Musings of a Former Angel

My depression is unique. It's deep and hard hitting.

But what rejuvenated me and gave me hope was that feeling of satisfaction I received from helping people. I was always a natural counselor. I was never too proud to dispense advice, and far from it for me to be so busy I couldn't lend a neighbor an ear, and if good fortune had it, to offer whatever words of wisdom or comfort I had.

I decided to take my issues seriously in 2012.

I entered group therapy. It was not long until others began turning on me for reasons I still cannot fathom. I just remember people saying things like, "He doesn't belong here." "He doesn't need help; look at how he dresses - he has money!" "He doesn't look depressed." and so on and so forth.

Needless to say, I was removed from group therapy, despite my protests about how I was being treated.

So, I decided to take my "clinic" on the road - whoever needed help, I offered the world.

Now, I sit here, after thinking - and I emphasize thinking - thinking that maybe I could be a counselor.

But I cannot be a therapist. I have been banned from depression support chats for merely greeting other people in my native language. I have been castigated, plotted against, ignored, exploited, cheated, used, and so much more - by both stranger and neighbor, no less!

I once was an angel. I once poured out tears for you.

I once had a heart that was fresh with wounds for your pain.

But your stiff necks, your hubris, and your gall - none of you know and none of you ever will know me, for I shall become the Devil you wish me to be.

Dirty dogs.