A Confession brought to you by and for the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval, 1973

 Whenever I try to say something, I can't, so I fantasize instead.  Whenever I go into a fantasy state, I am happy, but reality makes me sad.  That is why the word--depression--is in my vocabulary.  Everything I do, except speech related fields, fails.  Why is this?  The problem lies with the person.  It's a sad thing when I have to cut myself down, but that's about the size of it.  Some people say that I'm worth something, but it's hard for me to believe that.  I feel love, but it's like a little child wanting some candy that is too high up for him to reach.  I feel like I want to belong, but people are cruel sometimes.  I feel a sense of friendship, but most of the people I know are not friends.  When will it stop?  It won't stop until someone realizes that inside this hard wall that is called my body, there is a shy, sensitive person screaming, "Hey, I'm here.  Look at me.  I'm a person.  I create things.  I love nature.  I love people.  Won't you love me?"  If someone hears me, I won't be depressed any longer.