“Mom, am I still young? Can I dream for a few months more?”
Tue, Dec. 30th, 2025 11:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
americasuiteheartsI asked for help. I don’t know if it made me feel better or twice as worse.
I had this whole speech planned. I silently rehearsed in front of my reflection: that I should be happy, and how I’m not. That I feel completely empty, yet too emotional all at once. My hands shook and I did this stupid breathing exercise that’s supposed to help yet it never does.
Then I hesitantly walked over to my mom’s bedroom and I asked her if we could talk. She flickered the TV off and ushered me to sit next to her.
They say practice makes perfect, but nothing turns out the way I want it to. My voice was unsteady and the tears started falling despite how hard I tried to stop them. I didn’t sound like me. I sounded younger than I remember being— too young for the words coming out of my mouth. I told my mom that I think I might be depressed. She said she wanted to try and get me some help. She hugged me to her chest and told me that everything would be okay.
As soon as she let me leave, I raced over to the bathroom and locked the door. Kneeled over on the floor with my knees to my chest, I cried. I cried as quietly as I possibly could. I hate worrying her. I hate feeling like I failed at being the daughter she deserves.
When I came out, my mom was waiting for me at the edge of the bed. She held me for a while. We laughed at some stupid thing like nothing bad matters. She kissed my head and told me I was her favorite girl. I want to just be her baby girl again. I wanna forget everything else around me and be her little girl again.
It almost makes me feel worse. I know she loves me. I have so many people around me that care about me and I still can’t be happy. Why can’t I just feel okay for once? Why can’t I be happy about what I have?
Why can’t I be happy?
As I write this, I can feel the damp spot on my pillowcase. I don’t even remember starting to cry again. I didn’t want to post this. But half of my guts are already poured out onto the floor for everyone to see, so why not just spill the rest? All I know is that I want to feel better. I want to be better.
-r
I had this whole speech planned. I silently rehearsed in front of my reflection: that I should be happy, and how I’m not. That I feel completely empty, yet too emotional all at once. My hands shook and I did this stupid breathing exercise that’s supposed to help yet it never does.
Then I hesitantly walked over to my mom’s bedroom and I asked her if we could talk. She flickered the TV off and ushered me to sit next to her.
They say practice makes perfect, but nothing turns out the way I want it to. My voice was unsteady and the tears started falling despite how hard I tried to stop them. I didn’t sound like me. I sounded younger than I remember being— too young for the words coming out of my mouth. I told my mom that I think I might be depressed. She said she wanted to try and get me some help. She hugged me to her chest and told me that everything would be okay.
As soon as she let me leave, I raced over to the bathroom and locked the door. Kneeled over on the floor with my knees to my chest, I cried. I cried as quietly as I possibly could. I hate worrying her. I hate feeling like I failed at being the daughter she deserves.
When I came out, my mom was waiting for me at the edge of the bed. She held me for a while. We laughed at some stupid thing like nothing bad matters. She kissed my head and told me I was her favorite girl. I want to just be her baby girl again. I wanna forget everything else around me and be her little girl again.
It almost makes me feel worse. I know she loves me. I have so many people around me that care about me and I still can’t be happy. Why can’t I just feel okay for once? Why can’t I be happy about what I have?
Why can’t I be happy?
As I write this, I can feel the damp spot on my pillowcase. I don’t even remember starting to cry again. I didn’t want to post this. But half of my guts are already poured out onto the floor for everyone to see, so why not just spill the rest? All I know is that I want to feel better. I want to be better.
-r
