(5/16/17)
I can't begin to explain how miserable I am. It seems like no matter what I do, I manage to still be dissatisfied and upset. I don't even have the energy for the things I like to do anything. I loved taking care of my fish, and now it was so much of a burden I had AJ take them. I miss them a lot. I miss a lot of things.
I miss being able to have the energy to do the things I liked to do. I took it for granted. I, in a way, take living for granted. I used to just be irritable when I was forced to do the things I had no energy for. Now I'm just miserable in doing the things I want to do.
I get some kind of morbid pleasure out of different things.
Desire, for example, is one. I've took up messing around with AJ. Sometimes afterward it's all cuddles and flowers and sunshine. Other times I shut down and shut him out. I don't think he can tell the difference when I do one or the other, but that's fine.
Another is smoking. It goes the same way. It's giggles and fun and laaa! sometimes. Other times I'm way more miserable than I was before. I've never tried both at once, and I don't think I can/will/want to anytime soon.
There's an odd saying of "Everyone is addicted to something that takes the pain away." I mean, the things don't even take my pain away. It's like a distraction. Writing this to no one who doesn't read these journals is not a distraction. I am basking in my pain currently in these words. The floodgates have opened, so to speak, and I am in pain writing. I will continue to be in pain hours after I've written this.
I look back at old journals for times sake. I wish I never deleted my 8th grade and freshmen one. I remember why I did that, but I'm still kinda frustrated I did. I didn't think, me at 18, would want to look back and see how I think or have thought. It's funny how each of my journals are for the most part negativity and pain. as if I didn't have anything better to write about.
Well. I don't. This is how I live and function. This is clearly how I have for years.
