Why do you suck balls? And by balls, I mean old, smelly, saggy, wrinkly balls. The kind of balls you never want to experience in your sex life. The kind of balls that children definitely don't want to play with. The kind of balls... my depression sucks.
I'll be as happy as a peach until becoming as sour as a lemon in a snap. I'll tell people, "I'm happy!" as I'm bawling my eyes out. I'll feel like my body is about to scrunch up into a prune unexpectedly. I'll ruin people's day with my depression. And furthermore, it sucks balls.
I know my boyfriend's tired of it. I know society is sick of it. And I know I want to stab it in the jugular. But I can't! That's the disappointing point. Ah! Tables have turned, though! What if I took pills? No thank you... What if I exercised more? Tell the rain to bugger off. What if I went to therapy more? ... I like that.
I'll keep up therapy. I'll try my hardest to keep what I want off of my chest on my chest until I visit my therapist.
I know Mason likes it when I express to him how I feel, but that stuff usually ends in cold shoulders and sleepless nights.
Therapy! Here I come! A lot.
So, depression, if you don't mind settling down, I would truly appreciate it. Thank you.
- Sincerely, the human you reside in.
I'm also on my period... Does that count as an excuse?
Anyway... My day was fine. Dad and I went to Duke's Chowder House for dinner. I ordered the Lobster Padorn(?) chowder. That was fiesta in my mouth. Then, we came home and stayed inside while the wind blew and the rain poured.
Here's a picture of my grub. Excuse the half eaten Lobster Padorn(?). I was too excited to eat it instead of taking a picture of it.
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