It really irritates me when people think that they can begin to understand what I’m going through. I don’t care if you’ve lost your spouse, never been to Paris, or given up three times when training for a marathon. That doesn’t make your life suck. I don’t care how much you love to put your thoughts into poetry, knit cute little kitten tapestries onto cushions, or write fancy handwriting on the covers of birthday cards. That doesn’t make you “lonely”, “emotional”, or “needing people to talk to”.
What makes life suck, and what makes people really need someone to talk to, and what makes them really need a creative outlet for their thoughts, is when, in addition to social isolation, stress at college, and a failing relationship with your family, every second of your life is taken up with wishing that you were blind.