Actually, I knew I could talk to you. Do you remember all those moments when you caught me shedding tears? Those times when you walked in on me staring into empty space, and you asked what was wrong with me and I just said nothing or I said I was fine? I really wanted to tell you.
You were caring, compassionate, loving and tender. Your gentle and accommodative nature couldn't just pass unnoticed. I knew I could talk to you about any and everything but I had a problem.
A problem that was less about you and more about me. A problem you could do nothing about about. A problem that even though I knew I could talk to you about it, I wasn't sure if you would understand. I didn't know how you would react or what you would say. Will it be good, or will it be bad? Will your response be positive or negative? I didn't know for sure and I didn't want to try.
All these thoughts floated around my head. You can call me crazy and you wouldn't be far from the truth. So despite all your kind gestures and loving words, I couldn't get myself to tell you cos even if I knew I could talk to you about it, I wasn't sure you would understand.
YOU ARE READING
Tales Of A Depressed Teen
RandomShort Stories. In between are poems. Random thoughts about the misconceived ideas people have towards me. I'm not happy, I'm just smiling. Plastic smiles always worn outside. Behind doors, it's me, myself and I battling with depression.
