There was one day, right after you found out about my depression, and we were talking. And you said, "Pretending is how you know you're getting better." Like because I am pretending, it means I am getting better. I didn't know how to tell you this, but you are wrong. Pretending, and having that vision of me break down, is how I knew that I was getting worse.
I told you it was getting worse, hoping that you would ask more questions. But you didn't. I would have told you then and there everything, had you just asked.
I would have told you that I am suicidal.
I would have told you that I am cutting.
I would have told you that I hate myself.
I would have told you that I can't keep myself together.
I would have told you everything.
But you didn't ask.
I don't blame you though. You didn't ask because you didn't know that you needed to ask. It's because I never really gave you a reason to ask.
Through my entire life, I've been hiding from you. I've been hiding how I really feel from you. Which is funny, because that means that I have been hiding nothing. When you feel nothing, I guess you really just hide... nothing.
I am sorry that I never told you. I'm sorry that I never gave you a reason to ask. I'm sorry I'm not the daughter you want me to be. I'm sorry I'm not the daughter that I want to be.
I'm sorry.
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