Most people would kill to have what I do. I think that’s why Dad grumbles under his breath when my therapy comes up, when Mom tries to make him recognize I have issues. I hate the word, too. Depression. It sounds so fucking stupid, and I feel stupid. I don’t want to go to therapy, or talk about my feelings, or question every fucking thread of my past looking for answers. What if there is no answer? What if I am just not a happy person. Period. The end.
