i remember my child depression, i could daydream, and even play, in a somewhat somber way. i remember catatonia too. staring into the pattern of the wood on my headboard until a face emerged. it was my own. i remember never wanting to get out of bed. i remember hiding everywhere i went. i didn't so much believe i was invisible i just wanted to be so that i believed they didn't see me. i remember following stray dogs away from school by the weedy railroad tracks. i remember being chased by thugs. 
i'm just trying to think, i really am. when did it start. when did start to be this who that i am. i know that then i had my private menagerie, without the pained consciousness of the evil larger world i have today. but the depression was the same. it is the same. and the world, it is the same, the same world, but it seems a grave degree darker. it seemed the adult world was thick and impenetrable, but the world i saw was a lighter world, untouched by adults, even though they tried. now i am old. can i see what a child sees? i think i can. i think fundamentally i still am what i was then. i always knew the adult world was dangerous to grow into, and the only protection was the daydream. but there seems to be no place for children to daydream anymore. children seem to face this blank wall in the present we make with lies to protect them from what lies in the future.

i don't have time or energy to say it better with less.