I guess the worst part of everything is seeing my mum suffer because of me, knowing that she knows exactly what I’m feeling and knowing she blames herself for the way I feel. After all she’s been through, seeing her this way is what hurts me more. It’s kind of comforting though, because it means there actually is a way out, or at least something similar. After all, she attempted suicide when she was my age, but here she is, maybe not being entirely happy, but being capable of at least enjoy things. I love her more than anything, and I think I’m still here thanks to her (even though I’m not pretty sure if that’s a good thing).