Sometimes, you just can't talk to anyone. But you can't hold it in either. There's a lot you have to figure out for yourself, but writing it out helps a lot. A journal is all I have...that and an eleven year old little brother who I can talk to...but what can he really say? There's still a lot I can't tell him either.
Friday, my mom met me and Mr. B in Macon to trade me off, so I could visit my actual family for the holidays.
I have a good bit of health problems, that my mom isn't convinced about. Do I have them? Yes, I have depression and severe anxiety. I have allergies, and joint pain.
My mom believes that I could possibly have fibromyalgia since it runs in the family and she also was diagnosed with it when she was young.
I'm forced between two people want the exact opposite from me.
My adopted family (how I ended up living with them is a long story) freaks out over little things because they have a low pain tolerance. Mine is a lot stronger than theirs, but not as strong as my mom wants it to be.
Ugh, I gotta go. people call. I'll try and express something later. :J
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