The awkward moment when you tell your mom that she hasn't even noticed why you're depressed and she
Mom, the reason I'm depressed is the same reason I told you nearly three weeks ago. Have you not noticed the way I spend my days in my room, only coming out to eat a quick 15-minute dinner with you and Peter, or for my hour long hot baths? Have you not noticed the way that I pick at my food and only eat bits of what is for dinner, and how, in the end, I almost never eat in front of you? I take my bagel to school, only to throw it in the trash, and spend my lunch money on chips, crackers and cookies.
Because, the way you act around me, it tells me that you don't notice. That when I told you that I barely sleep at night, you just brush it off, and expect it to go away. That when I tell you that I don't want to talk, it means that I need to talk to someone and not have them feed me some bullshit stuff that's supposed to comfort me. That I spend my nights wondering just how much you'll miss me if I left, and never came home, because you never seem to.
I need to know someone in my real life notices that I'm not okay, because right now, not one person has. Or probably ever will.
Because, the way you act around me, it tells me that you don't notice. That when I told you that I barely sleep at night, you just brush it off, and expect it to go away. That when I tell you that I don't want to talk, it means that I need to talk to someone and not have them feed me some bullshit stuff that's supposed to comfort me. That I spend my nights wondering just how much you'll miss me if I left, and never came home, because you never seem to.
I need to know someone in my real life notices that I'm not okay, because right now, not one person has. Or probably ever will.