It is June. I am tired of being brave.

Well, fine. It’s the end of July but I can never pass up Anne Sexton. And it’ true: I’m tired of being brave.

 It’s a beautiful day, I’m on my deck stretching the wifi. I have nearly finished that story and I don’t hate it, which is rare. I’m seeing my friends in a few hours, and another friend after that. I honestly don’t know why I’m not happy. I felt like this last fall, but back then I had more legitimate reasons, which cleared up when I went abroad. Now I’m afraid it is just the brain chemistry I inherited from my mother. Which is terrifying. It is too soon to say though. I have a feeling that once I am in my own apartment and taking classes I will feel better. So who knows if it’s my location, my lack of serotonin or my situation, but I wake up feeling like I am still asleep. Then once I have a good time with friends (and when did I become this brat who needs constant attention and reassurance?) I am happy again and I feel stupid for ever feeling sad. I used to tell my therapist how guilty I felt for being sad when there were people who had really lost or been through more than I can imagine. I think she said something like “you’re only you. it’s okay to feel what you’re feeling.” Still, I hate that I am such a sensitive baby, I really do.  Like, who cares if my mother is a child and tells me constantly “you don’t love me like you used to,” who cares if I feel left out sometimes, who cares if I hurt someone because I am selfish, who cares if I miss people all the time. It’s not a big deal. Sigh, maybe someone knows what I am saying, because I don’t. Maybe everyone feels like this.

 I follow this girl’s tumblr http://rickahh.tumblr.com/. Her name is Rosey and she is certainly going through a rough time dealing with her depression. I read the following a month ago:

 “i’m afraid to be honest here anymore, but i will be anyway. i’ve spent a good deal of the early afternoon on the kitchen floor, crying until i was about to throw up. it was nice and cool, it’s just so hot today. i am so fucking scared. this is always me, always in this position. i wonder if other people ever feel this way. if they do, they don’t tell me about it. i’m always the one with this look on my face. waiting for someone else to say something. making doe-eyes expectantly. i was screaming in my head, you know. maybe i can’t will things to happen after all.

the thing is, i probably have nothing to worry about. no reason to be so upset. no one’s going anywhere. in all honesty, i will probably read this in 20 minutes and think dear god, who said those things? because i am not this pathetic.

i can’t decide if the realization that it’s difficult to trust yourself or your feelings in love is frightening and sort of depressing, or if it’s empowering and sort of a relief.”

I am not at the point of crying on the kitchen floor, but relate to the rest of what she said. + I do often look back and think “who said those things?”- I am not that person. I don’t know. If only I could swallow the loneliness that lingers even when I'm not alone, if only I could not care that people who should not fuck up are fucking up, if only I could I always trust myself enough to say what I'm thinking aloud...This was uber-confessional. Apologies. Here's a lol-ish picture to even the keel.