Happiness Is Relative.

Absolute depression is more worth achieving.

Emotions. They can really tear you apart. You don't even need a reason for those emotions, really. It invites itself into any situation, mindfucks you beyond belief and then leaves you to crawl away barely breathing.

It might not hurt as much if there was a reason for it all.

I seem to have been submerged in this state of depression lately. It's been a while since I left it, since I started seeing the opportunities in life to actually have fun in my life and seize them. But it's dragged me back. Perhaps during my darkest days, I managed to sink to the bottom of the pool and sign some sort of diabolical deal to forever hold my soul within it. So as fast as I try to run, or as strong as I am to hold myself back, an invisible hand always has its gangly nails within the skin of my back, ready to pull me in when I get too happy.

Or drown me, if it sees fit.

I don't know where I belong anymore. I don't know how I am meant to feel anymore. Two months ago if anyone had asked me exactly what I wanted, I would have said that this would be it. This would make my world a little bit brighter. This would make me love life a little bit more. This would take all my problems away, for just that period of time.

Ask me now, and I could not even pretend to say that same.

The emotions that are clouding my head are a mix of guilt and general discontentment. It's like I feel that I am disappointed in a lot of things but guilty that I feel that way at the same time. And alongside all of that, I am longing for something I can't have right now. I find myself counting down the days, rather than counting away the days and putting myself in a state of denial that the days are longer than they seem.

I wish the days weren't as long as they seem.

And then comes that guilt trip I have been sent on. All I can think of is how I am letting down the people who love me more than I can feel about them at this point. How I wish I could feel the same joy and desire and passion that they feel about our embrace than I feel about starting a conversation with them. How I can't bear to let them know that only one of our smiles is true.

While the other one is more fake than the red lips on a whore.

I wish I had a reason for how I felt; at least then I could come up with a solution to rid myself of these feelings. What was meant to be a time of leisure has turned into weeks of mental torture because more than the fact that I feel bored, is that fact that I hate myself for feeling that way.

And the physical agony is just as painful. The sleepless nights, the appetite-less days and the idle mind.

I can't fucking do this anymore.

I hope it's just withdrawal symptoms from not visiting Topshop.

Cheers.