When I’m depressed, the only thing that keeps me getting up in the morning is to maintain the illusion. I get up because if I don’t my parents will notice and they’ll get worried and they’ll try to talk about it and I don’t want to so I get up and do what needs to be done so I can go back to sleep again. I’ve spent a lot of time behind my mask. I’m too scared to be anything else: honest or true or whatever that bullshit is all those motivational speakers were talking about. I don’t cry around my friends, I hide behind jokes and sarcasm and an extroverted cover that takes days of recharging to save up for. Even in therapy, I was dishonest. Well, not dishonest. I just omitted some key things. But what about wanting to push myself behind the cupboards of the kitchen and what about the fogginess of my brain and what about the constant unshakeable unbreakable feeling of judgment idiocy unimportance disgustingness distastefulness that follows me. They all see it I can see them thinking behind their eyes that I’m ugly smelly dirty stupid dumb who the fuck cares what else, not them, only me. I want to be honest. I promise I do. I just can't.