A few weeks ago I was sat in class, stressed, exhausted and hopeless and I daydreamed about a big house somewhere far away in the mountains, by a big lake and a lot of silence. I imagined how I would go there, and I would heal my heart. The last two weeks I have spent at my grandparents house, in a small village buried deep inside countless fields, nothing forcing me to plan my future. And I feel like the last two weeks have  truly been like rehab to me. When I left for christmas break I was so miserable, and sad, and completely broken. I cried every single day, and death seemed beautiful, because it was easy. Yet today as I sit here in the darkness I find myself not so afraid to plan a future. Living is becoming less dangerous, I feel like maybe I could free myself from this sadness and I could love life again. Yet I'm afraid. I'm afraid that my depression is the best part of me, or that it's the only part of me, and that letting it go will be detrimental to me...somehow. A part of me wants to jump into happiness and never look back, yet another one wants to crawl back into the darkness and self-loathing. One thing I do know, happiness tends to lead to weight gain, and that would chase me back into the darkest self-hate of all in no time.