On day five after my parents took away my depression medication, I sat in class staring listlessly. Everything my teacher said about the lesson slammed against the wall in my brain blocking out my will. I heard none of it. Cared even less.
Upon the inside of my arm, I copied out fragments of sigils from a library book. Piecing them together to say what I needed.
I am free from depression and anxiety attacks.
Blowing the ink dry, I hoped this worked. If it didn’t, something else would have to give. I was afraid that something would be me.
Note: this story is not based on the writer’s experience.
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