Artificial Pleasure?

This sucks.
Recently, I have caught myself muttering these words frequently. The thing is, it feels as if this minimalistic phrase is the only way to describe how I'm feeling.
Occasionally, I wish that everyone in the world possessed the power of mind reading. I believe that if it was possible to analyse my thoughts, then people would understand. Perhaps then, people would stop holding the view that if you can't see it, then it's not real.
If people could read my mind, then maybe, all three of my therapists would understand what I truly required. Because nothing ever cures me. Nothing ever numbs, or at least dulls the ache.
Because I am in a permanent state of mental agony, I attempt to distract myself. I try to seek things that override my mental demons.
The thing is, occasionally, i succeed. It's undoubtably easy to find distractions if you search hard enough. I like to reference a semi-permanent state of bliss to alcohol. You see, if you ingest enough of it, you can reach climax and linger there for hours, maybe even days.
But then, what happens after the high fades? Sure, you can drink more, but in the end...
You'll just be as miserable as you were when you first picked up the bottle.
Luckily, my distractions do not include alcohol, or drugs for that matter.
My distractions include short lasting love interests, horrendously made reality television shows, and indulging it pitiful teenage issues.
Even though alcohol bingeing and harmless interests seem to differ, in reality they fall under the exact same category. This category I label 'artificial pleasure.'
Anything can be organised under this name if it is pleasurable for a short period of time, but, the endorphins only remain if you repeat the activity.
I, Aria Juliet Bluse, am on an eternal mission to find, and keep, pleasure that is anything other but artificial. So basically, I wish to be truly, undeniably happy.
Because I am determined, I will do anything I have to do to find this.
This, is the reasoning behind me not refusing to attend my therapy sessions. Even though I am convinced dwelling on my thoughts makes everything worse...

3.46pm.
I have, this thing.                                             I like to document times, and precisely what happened at that exact minute. I feel it's far to easy to forget important or significant details. I'm not sure why I feel it's important to do this, I suppose it stops me from twisting or manipulating previous events.
That's another thing I am. An over thinker.
Around an hour ago, 2.47 to be exact, I sat perched on the edge of my, as usual, unmade bed.