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make me believe

I noticed that I am always happier when I am out of the house. My worries seem to just dissapear and I find that I actually enjoy myself and enjoy being me, regardless whether I’m with friends or alone. I don’t exactly know why my mood often takes a turn for the worse when I’m at home, but I guess it’s something to do with being alone with my thoughts. But then, I’m alone with my thoughts when I’m out of the house, too, but I never really descend to the depths I do when I’m alone in my room. I don’t really know why it’s like that, but it is. And it distresses me greatly.

“Home is where the heart is”? More like “home is where I get depressed”. It may not seem like it, but right now I’m actively trying to feel — at the very least — somewhat ok but I can’t help but feel that I’m failing at it. But perhaps I should learn to stop giving in to my desires and live with this odd sense of emptiness gnawing away inside of me. Embrace it, in a sense. But I don’t know how that’d work, to be honest. But, perhaps, maybe I should stop whinging about it so much. Yeah. Just deal with it.

Speaking of which, I really do wish I could just not bother people with my shit all of the time, that I could somehow actually get a grip on myself and sort myself out without having to whinge about things to friends. I feel sick to my stomach every time I do that, but most of the time I just feel like I need to do that, for my own sanity. Preserving my own sanity but driving friends up the wall: awesome, why lie. I can’t help but feel that — regardless of what they say about it being ok — I’m being a huge, pathetic nuisance that they’d rather be without. Yeah, just goes to show you how much I actually trust them. Sorry guys. I’m a bad person. =/

Particularly high on the “annoyance” scale is my habit of sending text messages to people at ungodly hours of the night (like right now).

And that reminds me of something I’ve been thinking of recently. I can say I have (and had) great friends with whom I greatly enjoy hanging out and doing things, yes, but when I sit down and really think about it I feel this feeling of discomfort gnawing away at me when I begin to realize that I don’t really feel like I know any of them all that well. But, then again, you never really know anyone, do you? You just know the parts of them that they choose to show, the bits of their past they choose to unearth, the aspects of their personality that they allow to surface. But it still does bother me, though, to some extent, as I somehow, typically, feel that the problem is on my end.

I wish I could say that, regardless of everything I mentioned in the previous paragraph, at the very least I know myself, but as things are right now, I sometimes feel as much of a stranger to myself as they are. I don’t know what I feel, I don’t know why I feel whatever it is that I’m feeling, I don’t know what I want right now, I don’t know what I want from life, I don’t know what to do with my life. And then there’s the whole business of “goals” and “ambition” and things I never understood. I understand nothing at all of importance. Not even myself. Only useless things like subject-verb agreements, grammar (and even then, just barely) and various movie plots.

You know there’s something wrong with me when I keep digging this shit up just to torture myself more and more.

The real nightmare, ladies and gentlemen, is being depressed and awake at 3 in the motherfucking morning.

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