I didn’t realize how depressed I actually am.
I mean.. I knew it was pretty bad from a few weeks ago when I *finally* broke into tears while telling the story to my sister in a cafe.. and that it was worse when I cried infront of my dad later that night.
But I didn’t thought that I would cry again a few days later when I had to repeat this story to my brother.. while I was cooking!! Goodness. I was crying and cooking.. this is serious. –” So I took a quick getaway and slept over at my brother’s place the next night.
Okay.. I should be fine, i thought. I think I’ve cried pretty much enough. But apparently, I was wrong.
The next day, I was in an airport alone, waiting to get on board and start my holiday. I walked around for a couple of turns before my feet started to protest and I finally sat down at the waiting room. Just a split second afterwards, I broke into tears. Massive breakdown right there and then.
Of course there were people, lots of them, looking at me. But I couldn’t care less, really. I couldn’t really do anything about it anyway. I hyperventilated, my eyes were flooding, my nose was runny. The only thing I could do to make it look less weird was by holding on to my phone as if i was texting –”
It was ridiculous, I know!
And as if that was not enough, I cried again when I repeated that story to my friend here when we were in an open public space.
I didn’t know I can cry this much.