Sometimes I wonder if my heart is like a black hole--it's so dense that there's no room for light, but that doesn't mean it can't still suck me in.
Two and a half years ago I__ learned to stop wanting comfort from the people around me, because they couldn__ give it. We were all too scared. I was terrified and so were they. No one could understand what was happening to me, and when they couldn__ make me better they felt helpless and guilty and eventually resentful. Yes, they loved me, my head knew that even if my heart couldn__ feel it, but there was a small part of them that was angry. As if it was my choice to become depressed and that I was deliberately resisting the medication that was meant to fix me.
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Two and a half years ago I__ learned to stop wanting comfort from the people around me, because they couldn__ give it. We were all too scared. I was terrified and so were they. No one could understand what was happening to me, and when they couldn__ make me better they felt helpless and guilty and eventually resentful. Yes, they loved me, my head knew that even if my heart couldn__ feel it, but there was a small part of them that was angry. As if it was my choice to become depressed and that I was deliberately resisting the medication that was meant to fix me.
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At the end of the day your ability to connect with your readers comes down to how you make them feel.