"No, really. I'm fine," I told everyone who asked as I came out of my therapist's office. By everyone, I mean my mom, my dad, my sister, my boyfriend, my friends, etc. I could go on and on about who asked if I was doing okay or how I was doing. The thing is, is that once you're labeled as "depressed" by a doctor, wcertin suddenly gives a fuck about how you're doing. It's really kind of stupid, to be one hundred percent honest.
I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Opal, Opal Renee Lee. I'm seventeen years old and have a whopping total of sixteen brilliantly long days of school left before I graduate. I know I should be enjoying my senior year but it's kind of hard when you get tired of being depressed, dealing with stupid people, being stressed from school and, occasionally, having major tantrums that make your room look like a robber came in and threw clothes everywhere. Yeah, that's me; diagnosed depressed teenage girl by day, by night a three year old who throws a giant tantrum before she goes to work. My parents really appreciated the thought.
At any rate, I thought maybe writing this stuff down would get a lot of these feelings out. So welcome to my journal/diary/history of how I came to be where I'm at, and I hope it's most definitely as interesting as I thought it would be. Don't mind my therapist's notes in here, though. She has to read it to make sure I don't do anything stupid that could cause pain to myself or others. I promise you, I'm not that kind of person. Anyway, here goes nothing.
YOU ARE READING
The Beloved Lie
RandomOpal Renee Lee should be having the time of her life. It's senior year, prom is coming up and she has 16 days left of school. The thing is, she's been diag nosed as depressed by a doctor. This is her story of how it feels inside when you tell the be...
