I’ve been thinking. Well, I’m always thinking (and I’m thinking that I overthink too much that it’s becoming dangerous). I probably shouldn’t have told my family that I’m depressed. I was forced to tell them because it was too unbearable and I just didn’t want to go to school and I just needed a hug. But I couldn’t ask for a hug from my mother without crying. Now, I’m regretting that decision I made. None of them understands what I’m going through. They don’t even try. These days when I go through another episode of depression, I yearn for comfort. And I realize that I won’t have anyone with me all the time. In fact, I don’t think I’ll have anyone by my side at all in the future. I dread it but I have to accept that sometimes I’ll just have to endure this alone. I have to endure my family telling me that I just need to talk to more people and go out there and mingle with them.
I regret ever telling them. I already felt so lonely and now it is even lonelier.