Depression hovers above my skull like a black helicopter following my every move. I'm an alien on my own planet, out of place and just flat-out weird. A misplaced step can cripple my bones and one person's rejection can set me on fire. Flammable flesh afloat in a creek of gasoline polluted with their words (like matches). They'll sometimes sit next to my bed and grasp my hardened hand, asking how I feel. I tell them I'm a rose wilting away in a grave of autumn's leaves.