depression with a question mark

This morning

When my mom poured me a cup of coffee

I grabbed the sugar from the cabinet

And the milk from the fridge

When she drove me to school

Playing all of my favorite songs

I did not sing

I did not tap my fingers or feet

I did not skip over the songs I did not want to hear.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

With more urgency than needed

Because to her

Silence means chaos

Because in eighth grade I kept a journal

Every thought

Every love note

Every crazy new song I'd discovered

Went in it

I had to tell someone

Anyone

When they found the journal

My mother cried and my dad told me to suck it up.

That I had a “damn good life”.

I said anything to get out of that room.

"Nothing. Just tired."