I hate myself a little more each time I open up. The words come out, and for a moment, I feel lighter but the weight always returns, twice as heavy. I start regretting it. My chest tightens. My thoughts spiral. Did I say too much? Did I make them uncomfortable? Did I make myself look pathetic? And even when they're kind, something inside still whispers, You shouldn't have said anything. It's not them-it's me. The way I never feel worthy of being understood