Someone said to me yesterday that they thought, on the surface, that my life seemed perfect. And someone else said it too.

Maybe it does. But...

But..

But...

But....

But it's not is it? How pathetically ungrateful, selfish and spoilt am I?

And people say to me

"Why are you depressed? You've got everything you could ever fucking want, but it's not enough? Why?"

SHUT UP!!!!

I don't know why I'm depressed. If I knew, I wouldn't be, would I? I fucking hate it. And it's always to do with what 'people say..'

I just want to live, and I don't see that happening. Now, or ever.

And then, if they are lucky, or particularly unlucky, as the case may be, I tell them all sorts of things, about the depression, the cutting, the suspected eating disorders and all that shit, that really they don't want to know. And I come off looking worse and worse. Well I deserve it, don't I?

That's who I am.

That's who I fucking am, and I'll never change.However much I want to.

And then I think how can anyone like, let alone love, something like this?

Feeling:
Listening to:
Pretending:

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