On the way home my mother expressed to me once again that she thinks I need to talk to a therapist about being happy, my social anxiety and my eating habits… Writing that out makes my problems seem more real. Anyway, I actually agreed this time because although I can’t admit it to anyone else, I can admit to myself that I need a little help in my life. Even though my mom and the rest of my family are completely in the dark about the big things, the fact that she thinks that I’m depressed is a bit of a wake up call. Today she said to me, “I don’t want to look back on this time and regret not doing more to help you.” This whole thing is extremely scary and foreign and I don’t think I’ve ever had a more personal issue brought up with my family. This is going to be uncomfortable and weird but bringing the light to my problems and talking to a professional will hopefully help.