I am so confused. So frustrated.

An apparently, depressed.

I am so sick of people just assuming I am depressed.

I get up everyday. Take a shower everyday.  Get dressed everyday.

I look for jobs. I catch up with friends. I read. I watch TV. I write. I take trips.

I’ve only thought seriously about killi ng myself at 16/17.

Even hearing my mom tell my brother a few weeks ago, she wouldn’t have had kids if she knew she would pass on the gene that made me sick. No one should have to live that way. I felt sick. The idea that I might not exist, is so painful to me; I can’t even fathom it. Everyone has problems in life. That doesn’t mean we should all not exist.

Yes, I’m frustrated. Yes, I cry.

I’ve tried everything. I can’t find an easy way out.

But I’m not about killing myself.

And yes, I am offended if you think that.

Because it means you don’t know me at all.