I sit here on the itchy carpet of my bedroom eating cereal from a purple bowl. I am trying to explain to myself how depressed I am because no one else understands what I go through, even though some people have perfected the role of pretending that they do. I touch my toes with my mismatched socks and stare at the empty space that my bed has become. Beside me are the clothes that I wore for work today, thrown in the corner, left carelessly abandoned from the security of a laundry hamper. The rug presses against the back of my legs as I sit here alone, stripped in boxers talking to myself, eating cereal from a purple bowl. I need ears that will listen and a heart that won’t make judgments.