I suffer from clinical depression and anxiety, which seems to go really well with the whole eating disorder and cutting thing, but that's a whole other issue at this time.
Anyway - I live my life day to day, in a calm level state... I try not to get too excited because I come down way too hard.
This past weekend was exciting and I had a blast - I seemed to float on cloud 9 for hours, but then my mind started cranking and I started assuming the worst... even the logical didn't make sense. I assumed the worst, assumed it was me, assumed it was my fault, figured it was too good to be true and somehow, I totally fucked things up. I didn't come down slowly - I plummeted down - to the concrete below, where I am laying now, in a messy pile, too exhausted and depressed to want to pull myself together.
I hate feeling like this. Maybe it's easier to stay a messy pile of goo on the ground than fear falling so fast and hard again. Maybe that's why I try to not be too happy...
I want to cry... I hate feeling like this...
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