I’d ask myself, “What is wrong with you?" And I wished I could say, "Nothing is wrong." But I knew better.
I think, for many people, the hardest part of living, much like writing, is the criticism that comes with it.
Why did I share that? Do I just want validation? If so, from who? And why?
I felt nothing, mostly. And when I did feel, it wasn't sadness. It was terror.
I just wanted to disappear and not exist anymore. I felt like everyone’s life would be better without me in it.
PMDD feels like a sad nightmare while you are awake.