I've been trying to feel happier. Ive been doing things that are supposed to help you improve your mental health for the most part have been working really well. But I'm on the bus right now coming home from Sammi's birthday dinner and I want nothing more than to slip back into my old ways. I don't understand how unhappiness can be so addicting. It's like it's my default setting. Like this is the way I'm wired and it's the only way I'm ever going to truely be able to be myself. I'm afraid that being happy and mentally healthy isn't ever something I could fully achieve. Why is it that I was born with a preset to hate myself? Why do I already have a handicap? Already have a battle I have to fight before doing anything else? It's such a strange feeling, to be truely happy for the first time basically ever but still want to kill yourself. Why am I preset
For self destruction? Why is my automatic thought to hurt myself? To cry, and complain, and destroy? Why do I crave to hate myself? Why do I revert back to giving up at any minor setback. I hate it. I just want to be happy. I just want to be happy. I just want to be happy. I want to love life. I want to love myself. I want to be excited for life. I want to stop being anxious. I want to be healthy. I want to work on myself without it becoming obsessive. I want to hurt myself. I'll try not to.
Sadness feels self-indulgent. It makes me more sad that I feel sad. I don't know it it's healthier to let myself feel sad or if I should try to distract myself. Is it selfish to want to fold back into my feelings? Am I allowed to be sad if no one knows I am? Or do you think they can sense it? I'm trying to be a better person. I left University. I don't know if it was for the reasons I'm telling everybody. Maybe I'm just lazy. Maybe I'll never be anything and I'm better off being nothing. Maybe I'm an inconvenience to everyone around me. Maybe the world would be better off not having to take care of me. Maybe I should have killed myself before I turned 20. Maybe this is all wrong. Is it possible I wasn't meant to be born?
I hate that my brain is so cram packed with thoughts. All of them busy and loud. I hate that I can't send a text with three x's to my friends without worrying they might think I'm talking about sex. I'm sick of making connections that no one else does and worrying myself into oblivion when no one else would even consider it.
I don't know how normal I am. I don't know if this is ocd or anxiety or if this is just what being alive is and I'm just ill-equiped. I can't be this afraid of my reflection. I can't be this upset with my mind. I can't keep writing the same things over and over again. I can't keep sending letters to people who don't read them. I don't know how to end this so I'll just promise to stay alive until the next one. Goodnight.
