The sky has turned into a massive gray blanket. The light from the sun has no escape and the glorious golden rays of sunshine have no way warming up the increasingly colder days. These things tell me two things. Fall is here, and that my spirits will become more and more depressed. Fall has always depressed me for reasons I can’t even remember. The crisp air seems to have a magic spell enchanted on my heart. It seems as if it will only get worse.
When I was about 13 or so the signs of fall hurt me in a way in can’t explain. The thought of the impending death of all the plant life seemed to hurt me in such a way that didn’t make a bit of sense. I soon after words figured it out. The cold forced me to wear long sleeves and warm clothing. Then it clicked. Sleeves were my veil hiding my once morbid secrets; my self-inflicted wounds. They were never bad, but they were a mark that made the feeling in my body come back. They were also a reminder of how much I was unhappy with myself. That is why fall is the lowest point in my year. It was the yearly reminder of a side of myself that I had never known before.