It’s like it’s a scar that must be hidden. Like some dirty secret.  An ugly sweater you keep in the back of the closet and only bring it out when that aunt comes to visit.  You hide it.  You deny it, even to yourself. [. . .]

http://pennywilsonwrites.com/2019/08/05/depression-and-denial/
— Read on pennywilsonwrites.com/2019/08/05/depression-and-denial/

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