So I’m sat on Tumblr at 3am searching the depression tag and listening to Brand New. This couldn’t be any more of a warning sign if I tried. But, it’s not. It’s really not. It’s okay. I took my meds earlier, but only because I can’t remember the last time I took them. It’s nice knowing I don’t need them anymore. That I don’t panic if I don’t take them.
Anyway, I’ve remembered what I wanted to talk about.
I spent the weekend at work back home and there are people there I adore, who adore me too. I can see that and accept it and it makes me glad to return. None of them have questioned my scars, but I’ve always told myself I’d be honest with them about them if they did.
Except, someone finally did. And my instinct was to lie. I could have screamed fuck quite loudly after I did that. I didn’t mean too. Annoying.