Of course I am.

I am not a bad person. I am not a burden to my boyfriend. I am not going to be sad every day for the rest of my life. I will not hate myself for having trouble working lately. I will not call myself lazy. I am good. I am awesome. This is what I tell myself.

I hate worrying people but I do it anyway. I’m good at faking things with people who don’t know me well, but still I write and put it all out there (here). Writing is misleading though; sometimes people think that just because you can write clearly about pain, you are the master of it. Nothing could be further from reality.

Nevertheless: Writing kills time, and makes me really think about things, and sometimes it makes me annoyed with myself for sharing so much, because it exposes other people to my problems.

But I am not a bad person. I’m awesome and good. I could get in a car and drive to New Mexico. Or I could write a book on nothing. I could work on an organic farm. I could build a castle out of pure information. I could run in circles on a track, or run in a straight line on a street. I could avoid everyone and then slowly rebuild in the nuclear winter of my social life. I could huddle on the floor beside the bed.

Sometimes I loathe myself because I don’t deserve to be miserable (unless I were a lawyer). I have no drug addictions, I am lucky. Unless you count these pills that supposedly keep me on an even keel. I have food, I am lucky. I have issues with food, I eat too much of it, pizza twice a week these days. I have a home, for now, until I can’t work because I’m too nuts. I am lucky. I have my boyfriend, I am lucky, lucky. The worry in his face is like a bruise on my heart.

You want to look away right about now, don’t you?

Oh, don’t worry. I always, always, always survive. It’s my selling point ;).