(Die)ry.

10/4/2015

It is so hard to keep writing anymore.

It is so hard to express what's really happening to me, in words you'll understand.

I could stop what I'm doing to myself so simply, but it would only let the other problems resurface themselves once more.

I could put down the problem only to pick up another.

I'm so unhappy.

My problem isn't that I'm turning on anyone anymore. That problem is fixed.

My problem isn't that I have no energy or drive to move or even get out of the bed in the morning. That problem is fixed.

These new problems are just as bad though. They attack me from the inside, but I can see them on the outside now too.

I see things. I think things. I feel things.

I'm making myself sick because I feel guilty for feeling hunger. . .for feeling normal.

I still feel sad.

I'm not angry. I'm not snapping on anyone for no reason anymore.

I'm not laying in bed and crying my eyes either though.

I just feel sad.

Pros:
Less anxiety attacks.
Less mood swings.
More energy.

Cons:
Depression is worsening.
No more appetite.
Guilt.
Sadness.

Is it all really worth it?

I've been working on myself so hard. Like I'm some kind of robot who just malfunctioned and needs a few parts here & there.

What if it's so much worse though? What if I'm a just junk yard bot now?

I can't open my mouth and speak without feeling guilty.

"What have I don't to make you feel like you can't come to me?"

"I'm always here for you."

"You need to start speaking up and telling me these things."

But I just can't. I can't let you know I'm getting worse as I get better.

I can't let you know that I'm worse off than you thought.

I can't explain to you that there are steps to these things and that they require patience and lots of time, because I'm losing patience with myself at the exact moment you are too!

I crave so badly to be happy. I crave so badly for people to stop telling me to be happy and just let me.

News Flash: THE MORE YOU PRESSURE SOMEONE TO BE HAPPY, THE LESS HAPPY THEY BECOME.

I can't make myself tell you what's going on inside of me, because truthfully, I have no fucking clue anymore.

My head and my heart are on completely different pages of the same damn book, reading backwards, fighting over words, tearing at pages, crying on the print that I'm trying so hard not to smudge!

And all I want to do is close the book and throw it away, because who wants to read a book they can't understand?