I slipped to my mom that I was depressed. I had to keep from her how depressed I was though. I know, you're supposed to open up to your parents because they're your parents, but growing up in a house with more distance between you and your family than the Grand Canyon creates a sort of odd feeling. I also know that you're supposed to share if you have suicidal thoughts or bad actions, but I don't want to tell me parents. EVER. The conversation went something like this.

Mom: You need to talk to me.

Me: 

THEN. A DAY LATER MY MOM CALLS ME INTO HER ROOM TO HAVE A LITTLE TALK. IT WAS NOT A LITTLE TALK. IT WAS A FREAKING THERAPY SESSION THAT WAS UNEEDED.

Mom: Talk to be about your feels.

Me: 

Mom: But I'm your mudder. You can tell me anything.

Me: Um yeah how about no...

Me: Yeah so when can I go to the doctors and get anti-depressants and be done with it.

Mom: 

 

 

 

 

:D