not so good
After moaning about my depression in my myspace-blog I don't have the energy to put it in here again. Well, let's say it's a neverending story about frustration about not loosing weight, feeling fucked up and to be used as suggesting box for everyone else.
I sometimes have the feeling that some people think that only they have the right to be upset, to be depressed about every little poo and they only then know my phone number.
But do they ever think about me having problems too? And the funny thing is, that at the end I neither think so.
Sometimes I feel like I'm in a prison, not getting out, but I see the sunshine through my window. The door is not locked, but I still can't get out.
I sometimes have the feeling that some people think that only they have the right to be upset, to be depressed about every little poo and they only then know my phone number.
But do they ever think about me having problems too? And the funny thing is, that at the end I neither think so.
Sometimes I feel like I'm in a prison, not getting out, but I see the sunshine through my window. The door is not locked, but I still can't get out.