it breaks my heart to talk to my mom when she knows I’m depressed, and she can’t be here to help.
she knows how I get. she knows about the frantic sobbing, and the catatonic spells, and the desire to be swallowed whole by the earth and never spat back out again. she doesn’t understand it entirely, but she knows. she was always there for me, even when I wouldn’t respond.
but now, she’s really far away, and all I can do is lay in my bed and cry. and she keeps suggesting things to make me feel better, like, “you should make some tea! it’s only a few steps to the kitchen (:”
when both of us know that she knows how hard a few steps are for me, right now.
I just want to break down and cry on her shoulder.