My Truth

my doctor asked me what’s my truth. And I dawned on this question for a while. She came in the next day and asked me this question all the way up until I got discharged. On the way to campus in a smelly taxi I still couldn’t answer what my truth is. but now that I’m lying in my dorm room bed and listening to post Malone high, I can finally answer what my truth is. My truth. My truth is I’m too sensitive I think I can fix everyone but refuse to work on myself because I don’t think I deserve this wonderful life because I have yet to be anything but wonderful. I love too fast and too hard for girls with dark hair and pretty eyes. I love to the point where it hurts me just to think about falling in love again with the wrong person. I never think people are the wrong people. My truth is I’m so scared to get crushed because when my mom crushed my heart, I lost trust in everything. I never let people in to the point where it hurts me and if I do let people in, I have this weird invisible wall over my heart so they can’t break. My truth, I need everyone to like me, so I feel better about how I don’t like me. My truth is I have depression. I don’t know how to deal with it, so I make jokes and push my feelings so low that I forget I have them sometimes. I’m scared of white people. I'm scared of people with different views than I have. I'm scared of the world and to explore it because then I won’t want to leave it. I’m scared to get better mentally because I don’t know who I am without my depression. My truth is I don’t have a truth. I don’t have a truth because I've never been honest with myself about how I feel. I want to die but I want to live, I want to love but I won’t let myself be loved, I want to enjoy life, but I don’t do things that I enjoy.