I thought it was gone for good..
I thought my depression had eased up, subsided, gone even.
I thought I had made it go away, I had done it, by myself.
I thought that I was getting better, happier, was on the road to happiness.
I think that I was wrong, I have no reason, I am not in control.
I think I have lots to live for, but that I don't have the energy for it, don't deserve it.
I think that my parents won't understand, can't understand, don't want to try.
My friends I'm sure could help, if they understood, if they knew.
They could help me, or get me help, maybe my parents could too.
But that wouldn't happen, and part of me doesn't want it to, can't be bothered.
She found my scars.. I think she found my diary too. I feel embarrassed.