One time I wrote a poem and it had “Desperation” in the title but it wasn’t anything dark or gloomy…I made the mistake of showing that to my mom. She emailed me back and said, “Are you feeling desperation? Is this a cry for help?” I was mortified. I did not think that anyone would think of it that way at all. It was just a poem! I stopped my poetry around that time. I stopped sharing with my mom and sister who overthink every little thing I write, or read too much in to things I say or do on facebook, etc… I can’t share much of that with them. They think I’m going to fall apart any minute now. I’m not like that anymore and they don’t understand that I have grown emotionally. I’m not the same scared kid with no friends from 25 years ago. I am not the way I was in my early 20s anymore. Just the fact that I broke up with my ex should prove that I am ok. Yet when I am not ok, they don’t seem to notice anything at all. I feel like I never understand why the concern for some things and not others. If I write a poem they say it is a cry for help but when I came to my mom and told her one day that I was having some problems she told me to stop whining and she was tired of hearing it. I just don’t understand them sometimes. Am I supposed to talk or not? Am I supposed to ask for help or not? Make up your minds guys. Jeez.