I’m afraid to let go of whatever anxious part of me thinks that holding onto anger and fear is it’s only way of survival. I want to sink. The hand is outstretched for me now but I accept it begrudgingly. Why have I found my hell to be so comforting? Going back to being normal is terrifying to me. Like jumping off a cliff, into the other reality. Like I’m falling up. I don’t know where I’m going. It’s like an addiction to unhappiness, and even though my dependence on drugs is fading as I feel lore normal I want to need them. I began to miss my emotionally abusive ex. Why does it hurt to change? Why is it so hard to accept happiness?