I’m so immensely angry that I didn’t wind up with a half decent mother. All I got was a game playing adolescent. So now as I try to write through angry tears, I feel incandescent rage. Because it has filtered into so much, including how I view other women, nurturing, nature, beauty, hobbies, interests, ambition. But the incandescent rage will fade, and the depression will return. Because depression is how I survive. And hiding food is how I survive. Keeping to myself is how I survive. And taking joy in small things is how I survive. And living as small-y and quietly is how I survive. And occasionally binging on alcohol or treats or junk food is how I survive. Avoiding intimacy, romance, friendships is how I survive. Deliberately gaining weight to discourage any interest is how I survive. But these realizations will fade. All that is left is the depression, the empty hopelessness, the total numbness. And I will continue to lurch from day to day, not sure how I keep going.