Depression mind unload.

The following is a depression unload, or me verbalizing a combination of internal thoughts I’ve had in the past three weeks that I haven’t shared with people in hopes they’d go away.

I’m trying this whole fake it till you make it thing. I’m going to pretend to be positive in person and on social media in hopes that it somehow makes me positive in my head. So, every time I’m about to complain or anytime I feel sad, I’m just gonna give someone a compliment. You can never go wrong with making another person happy, and maybe that will make me happy.

Why did he even message me if he knew nothing was going to happen? I mean, I don’t care, but he wasted my time and sort of got my hopes up for nothing.

I told her she is pretty without makeup because it’s true, and all I wanted to do was cry, so I changed the subject.

I don’t want to feel this way, but why is it that everything I do, I’m thinking of him. My life revolves around him, and I sit here waiting for him to be ready to do things with me. And I know that he wants to hang out, but he doesn’t want to do things with me as much as I do with him. Because he doesn’t need me like I need him, and that’s not his fault. It’s mine.

I hate her. She doesn’t appreciate what she has, and she complains and complains and complains without ever doing anything about her so-called problems. And why is she complaining? She has a job and a boyfriend and a life. And even when I try to help her, she just shuts me down. She doesn’t deserve it. Because if I were her, I’d be so happy.

She got me in contact with this person that’s supposed to change my life, but it turns out, he was right… this wasn’t some magic, life fulfilling thing that would make everything better. And this person may be who I need in my life, but they don’t feel like it. They ask me to do something, I do it, they’re happy, then it doesn’t work out. They ask me why, I tell them a very legitimate reason, and they say, “Well, do it anyways.” Like… no. It’s impossible and a waste of my time.

Stop asking me how he’s doing because I don’t want to think about him because it only makes me sad and reminds me that I can’t survive without him, and he’ll never feel the same.

She made me feel like my taste didn’t matter, and she may be right. I don’t like what other people find conventionally acclaimed, but I like what I like and it would be nice if one person would just be supportive. And it’s aggravating because every time she puts down my JoJo deepcut, I can’t help but think, “Wow. Wish I was sooooo cool and liked Florence and the Machine like every basic white bitch.” But I don’t say that shit outloud because my mom raised me right. And I’m not gonna talk to her anymore because there is nothing worse than someone telling you they don’t care about what you who you are. Because it’s synonymous with not caring about you. She made me feel like I didn’t matter. They all did.

He liked her post on Facebook. I can hear myself saying this, but I hate that he did that because he knows that she’s hurt me before. I would never allow someone to treat him like that and then let that person remain in my life. And it’s not the first time he’s made me feel like this, and I don’t know why I allow myself to feel it at all. I just want to stop caring about him and going out of my way to make sure he’s happy when he doesn’t do the same for me. But maybe that’s because I love him more than he loves me. Actually, I’m sure of it. Because I’m sick of him trying to be everything to everyone. At some point, he should have to pick. Just have some sort of fucking loyalty.

We’re driving and we’re driving, and we’re sitting in silence and I’m wondering what to talk about because I have nothing to say, and I’m starting to think that we shouldn’t be friends because we have almost nothing in common. And then I’m trying to remember the last time I was happy, and I can’t. So I think, “I’m always going to feel like dying is a much better option than living.” And the sad thing is, I haven’t stopped thinking that since.

He said that he just got my texts I sent him, but I know he saw them much earlier in the day. He probably didn’t want to respond to them because he’s sick of me relying on it. But it still hurts. Because he lied to me, and I don’t blame him because I wouldn’t want to deal with me either.

I can’t pretend that it’s okay when it’s not.

Why can’t they see that I’m dying?


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