Loss of a Friend

   Today was a very sad day. I had to say farewell to my longtime friend Wyatt. He wasn't a person. He was my horse. My horse whom of which I owned since I was eleven, and had ridden since. Although in recent years (Two years in fact) I haven't been on his back. Why is this? Because in year one of my two-year lapse was when my depression was it's worst; I never wanted to do anything other than sit in my dark room and listen to my music while I lied in bed. My mother on the other hand continued with her lessons and became an excellent rider by the next year-- year two. In year two my world became a black hole with a grey filter over every shred of color in my eyes. The sun wasn't a sun: it was irritation, people weren't people: they were parasites, myself wasn't myself: I was dead.

   It wasn't until one day when my mom was riding, a lawn chair was blown over by wind causing my horse Wyatt too rear up and toss my mother to the ground. She broke her rib and cracked another one. When she got home before she went to the hospital, my mom turned to me in the kitchen and said,
"We are going to sell the horse."

   Not Wyatt; the horse. Not my abandon companion, but a horse. I still loved him but my mother believed I'd lost interest in him. That was not the case at all, she didn't see the sun the way I saw it, the people, myself, and now her.

   A year later with him on the market, we were contacted by a farm called Sari. This farm helped developmentally challenged kids learn to ride horses, they call it "therapeutic riding", but to me it said "horse thiefs". Yes, I get it, he's going to be going to a good cause but honestly I couldn't give two shits.

   I saw the barn today, very big. I noticed a "Volunteers needed!" sign on one of the stall doors and figured that if I volunteered I would still be able to see him. Maybe even ride him again. My mother claims that if I carry on with another year of riding she will consider getting a new horse-- I don't want a new one I want him. Part of me wants to believe that she only sold him out of anger for throwing her off....

   Since I hadn't seen Wyatt in so long, when I did see him he didn't know who I was and it hurt me because I knew it was my fault I didn't have the balls to come out of the depression hole. There is much more I want to say but I'm tired and don't feel up to typing another few paragraphs.

Sadly yours,
a clinically depressed author