One day, my thoughts are going to get the best of me. And that scares me.
The holidays get me sad and lonely and… pained. I’ve turned off people close to me so many times this year and the years before with my “I hate Christmas” rants, but I can’t help it. I CAN’T HELP IT. I can’t get over it.
It’s not even Christmas. Christmas just amplifies what I struggle with throughout the year — the ins and outs of depressive states.
It’s gotten past the usual adolescent angst and developed into something more. Take this angst, multiply it a hundredfold and prolong it, that’s what it is.
What you see on Facebook is fake.
Smiles for the camera. Smiles and giggles and laughter in real life are fleeting things to me. It’s when I’m anywhere alone that the facade breaks and I feel the emo again. And I feel so alone, all the fucking time.
Why? I don’t know.
It’s hard not to have a group of friends to run to, a group of friends to look for you when you disappear from the world for a while, a group of friends to give you birthday or Christmas gifts, for crying out loud.
I want this all just to go away. I want to go away. Live life alone and quietly in some distant corner of the world, but that’s not gonna happen. I’m 23 years in and everything’s still the same, or worse than it was before, even.
I’m so fucking sick of this shit.