im too comfortable in my mental illness. not comfortable in the sense that i’m happy or content — comfortable in the sense that it’s all i know, so it’s safe to me. familiar. i’m in so deep that it feels easier to just let myself sink.

but i think there was a time where i was happy. and by happy, i don’t mean the momentary euphoria of little things, of feeling achievement; that always goes away.

i mean genuine, true, happiness. a desire to live. hope for the future. i forgot how that feels; to have hope.

i know that being in a good place mentally doesn’t constitute to being happy all the time. of course you can’t be happy all the time. it’s impossible. you have to feel the negatives to embrace the positives. and i don’t deny that. but being “happy” often also means to have an understanding of why you’re alive. why you don’t want to die. 

and i wish i had that. i wish i didn’t think of dying everyday. i wish i didn’t hope every night that when i go to sleep, i’ll miraculously not wake up. i wish that most of my thoughts weren’t about self punishment. self hatred. degradation.

it’s so tiring. i’m tired. i’m only 16 and feel like a bedbound terminally ill patient at the end stage.

but staying trapped is also less effort than healing. i don’t know why i can’t allow myself to heal. the familiarity and comfort of depression is my biggest obstacle and i don’t know how to overcome it.

anyways sorry for the rant