I realize something that is a major contributor to my depression. My family. While they are not cruel or mean, there is one major thing that I feel lacks with them. They don’t really listen. Which I find slightly ironic, I suppose. My name is Samantha, which means (usually) ‘Listener’ or some variant. And I suppose that is the truth. I listen to others very well. Of course, I’ve become far LESS interested in listening to others as of late. Partially because I’m currently friends with people who either a) don’t really listen to me or b) I’m not entirely comfortable talking to. Either because I don’t believe they’ll listen, I think they’ll judge me, or I don’t know them well enough (which goes back to the judging part).

I find the anonymity of the internet comforting, but still just as impartial and frighteningly lonely.

Because that is what frightens me. To be alone. Not so much in the sense of romance, as I switch between caring little and caring not at all, but I miss having true friends close at hand. When my latest relationship was in the midst, I found myself drifting from the friends I did have. None of whom were true, mind you.

Gossiping behind my back, considering me cruel and evil for not LYING and actually being an adult.

My true friends, at present, are in Washington, and I feel as if I’m bothering them.

Because I can’t see them in person and talk to them as such. Disheartening as always.

So I suppose a big thing that people don’t realize is that you need to listen to others. Your friends, your family. It’s important to everyone to be heard. Even if it’s a small thing. It shows that you care.