I hate Sundays

It baffles me to be someone who has a life that is so good, but who feels so, so sad. Nothing feels right these days. My head is off, my body is off, everything is off. I just want to be on. Even if it was on with a dimmer switch, at least there'd be some light. I spend a lot of time in the dark these days, metaphorically speaking. I can never be happy with what I have, I am always longing for more, am always comparing myself to others. I truly am a bad person. That sentence isn't meant for someone to counter, it's a fact. I am a bad person. I'm not nice. I'm perpetually tired. I'm ugly inside and out. I'm mean. I'm detached. I'm jealous, oh my God, so jealous. And I am undeserving of the people in my life.

Again, this is not a post in which I'm hoping someone will throw glitter at me to make me feel better. It's how I feel and it's how I've been feeling for quite some time. Depression is a spiteful bitch. She goes away for awhile, makes you feel secure and hopeful, and then BAM! she's back in every thought and she brings a long her pal anxiety to fuck you up further.

I don't want to do therapy. That isn't the answer for me. I don't know what is.

I hate Sundays.

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