I’m not a fan of coming back home to my parent’s place these days. My mother keeps a watchful eye over me at all times, and all she seems to do is worry about my mental health. When having conversations with her about appointments and therapy, I can hear the disappointment in her voice when I tell her that I’m not better yet, and probably will not be anytime soon, but that it’s something that will take time. It’s as if she was naively hoping for everything to sort themselves out without a few weeks.
I still haven’t told my mum about my depression, which makes being at home harder. On down days, I have to try harder to look like I’m doing okay. It’s getting exhausting. I wish I hadn’t told her, had I known things would be like this.
My dad, on the other hand, isn’t as vocal as my mum, but you can still see the concern in his face; the stress.
I just want to run away from them all.