They stare into my eyes, trying to catch depression.
And sometimes it works, but most days it's hidden well.
And I try to explain that it's not a flaw in my character, and that it's just chemistry.
But mom says,"Get over it. It's not that bad."
I know, mom.
I'm trying.
I'm trying so hard.
Some days it feels like I'm okay.
And I try to be okay, mom.
I'm really trying.
But most days it feels like my heart is shattering at every word.
Like my soul is being ripped from my lifeless body.
Like my head wants me to feel bad, wants me to die.
And I'm sorry, mom.
I'm really sorry, mom, I am.
But I can't control this.
It's an invisible force, pulling me under water.
And I'm struggling to release myself from it's grasp.
But it hurts, mom.
It hurts so bad.
And I don't expect you to understand, mom.
You've never felt this before, mom, but I have.
I have felt this.
And I just keep feeling.
I'm sorry, mom.
I'm really sorry...
