bury me in this dress

I’m still upset over what happened last night. I feel guilty. I really really don’t want to be a burden to mom but the depression couldn’t be helped. I’ve had depression ever since I was a kid, I guess around the age of 10 or 11. It was only during college that a psychiatrist was able to diagnose me as clinically depressed when I had an awful anxiety attack. I wish I’m normal. I wish I’m functional. Not like this zombie or droid. I have an appointment with my therapist Wednesday next week. That’s the earliest he can see me. Crap. And it’s at 9 PM. I don’t think an hour session is sufficient to cover what happened to me over the past few months. Hopefully the session will be fruitful but if it isn’t, I will look for another therapist.

My mother and I had a heart-to-heart talk a couple of minutes ago. She came up to my room to ask me something then talked to me about my life and my depression. She said that my depression is pulling her down but she’s not blaming me. She wants me to widen my world, go out of the house, have a job, find a motivation, anything to improve my life. I couldn’t answer her much. I’ve always found it hard to express my feelings. So I just cried. She’s scared of what will happen to me when she dies. I’m fucking scared too but right now, I can only do so much. Anything and everything takes a lot of effort from me and I’m scared that it will always be like this. So what will happen to me when she’s gone? If my life hasn’t improved by then, I know I will try to kill myself. I just know. I’ve always known.