"What's even wrong with you?? I don't understand why you always acting so sad! You're being stupid!"
I know my Mom means well, but she just doesn't get it.
She doesn't understand how the thoughts are coming faster and more viciously than ever before. She doesn't understand that I don't know how to fight them. Nobody seems to understand.
I silently go to my room and lock the door, a storm brewing within me. Shivering, I throw on my sweater. It's become a nervous tick now, going to that hole that no one can see is starting to get bigger. I can almost fit my pinky into it.
Maybe she's right. There is something wrong with me. I am being stupid. Why do I feel this way? Nobody understands!
I can feel the pressure building and I can feel my breathing increase, but I can't stop it. I don't know how. I don't know what to do.
So I cry. I tell myself all the things I believe about me. I tell myself that I am stupid and I am disgusting and I am unlovable.
Because that it was what I am.