What I wished for most right now, was to rub it in his stupid narcissistic, little face. Damaging his pride, for sure. I hated him. They all said I would never make it as a model. Here I was, boarding the airliner for the biggest event in fashion history. Although there's just one minor setback. As I walked in to the plane, I saw the seat next to me was occupied. With a smirk already prepared and plastered on his face, there he sat. Wes Anderson. Not to mention the flight lasts for eighteen hours....This can't be good.

I'm sorry if this story is bothering you. But if it is, it's clearly not meant for you. "What's depression like?" A friend once asked. I didn't know what to say. Because when people ask you things like "What's wrong" and "How are you?" and "Can I help you?" I never know what to say. I end up lying. I end up answering "nothing" and "Fine" and "No". Though what I really want to answer is "Everything" and "I'm not okay" and "Yes, please". What depression is like? Writing what it's like is easier than telling what it's like. Only a few will totally understand what it's like. And for those people I wrote this.