"All I can do is just lying on the bed; hating myself, trying not to cry. Yes, this stupid little thing can make me cry like a baby. It’s not about the butterflies in my tummy anymore; it’s more like a group of bull spring into a rage; trying to destroy my tummy. I can throw up anytime, and I can barely breathe. My head’s aching, my body’s trembling—damn it sounds too dramatic, but it is what I feel every single night. And that is exactly what I felt just a moment ago. I wonder what the hell is going on with me. I mean, it’s just a simple problem but I take it too seriously."
From the text above, we can conclude that ...
A. The writer is in love.
B. The writer loves watching drama.
C. The writer ate a group of bull until she got sick.
D. The writer feels tired so she's lying on the bed.
E. The writer is depressed but she's got no idea why.