As I sit on the balcony, contemplating my existence, it occurs to me that I probably need therapy. After all, the constant feelings of inadequacy mixed with my god complex don’t leave me much time for anything more than the exploration of my mind. To most it may not seem like that big of a deal, a seventeen year old girl with depression? Been there, done that, but when you add her anxiety, panic attacks, ADD, OCD and insomnia to the mix? Maybe it’s time for someone to actually care, not that it would make much of a difference, everyone leaves her sooner or later, and even if they didn’t leave, she most certainly would. Because if there’s one thing she hates more than herself, its the shitty small town that she was forced to move into just over a year ago.
Adding salt to her wounds is the fact that the world is currently going to shit, what with the global pandemic and race protests, making her feel even more insignificant, as though she can’t speak up about her issues, or what ails her, without seeming like a desensitised prick.
Sure her mental health is at an all-time low, but no one has the time to realise it, or care about it, no matter how much they claim to love and care for her.