Buffing My Key

My personality reflects a happy-go-lucky person who is too shy for my own good. If it were easy to change the way I act and react toward someone or something, I wouldn’t hesitate to attempt it. Other people remark that I can seem cloudy, ill-disposed, occupied, the list goes on. The afflictions I face (depression, anxiety, mood disorder, ADHD) cause such differing perceptions. One frail girl. My way to combat these problems I may never shake comes on a chain. Every day, I wear the same necklace. Three keys of different size, shape and texture hang heavy from a thick, bronze chain. A strange metallic stench often radiates from where it lay against my chest. It only comes off my neck just before I head off to bed, no sooner, no later. Occasionally, however, I will forget to replace it around my neck. On these days I am less stable, since I have grown accustomed to
Much like the second, this key has been abused and blackened beyond repair. Buffing the key would never bring back its original details. Around middle school is when depression took me in its grasp. The new sensation of nothing is a shock to system, and mine took the loss of emotions roughly. I lost most of my friends throughout my later education and I couldn’t do anything about it. The grip that depression had on me was too tight, so tight I couldn’t breathe easily most days. The struggles that I still live through thrive in this final key. Unlike the other keys, I almost never take this key in my hand. For lack of a better term, I avoid this key like the plague. Regardless, it’s strung along my two other strongest memories to remind me how closely I walk the line between life and death, between happiness and sorrow, between thankfulness and indifference. As much as I hate the emotions and memories surrounding this key, I still keep it close enough to choke me. One day I might outgrow the restraints that keep me from blooming to my full