It’s like it’s a dirty word. They never say it. They don’t even say it when we’re alone. They say ‘appointment’. Emma you have an ‘appointment’. Get ready you don’t want to be late for your ‘appointment’. It’s kind-of rubbed off on me, I’ve only said therapy once since I’ve started going. Why is it such a bad word. It’s better than depression, we haven’t even come up with a word for that. I think my parents don’t want it to be real. They want me to be happy, and perfect, and normal. I try to be. I wish that I could be that for them. I try to make it seem like there’s nothing wrong, I hold it in and time when I can collapse. In our house it’s like our whole life is a well timed, well choreographed, show. I pretend I’m not depressed, and they pretend they can’t tell.