This weekend has been fun. I did things I like in the company of people who I enjoy spending time with. The sun shone and I laughed. Lots. This being so, why am I not happy? What the hell have I done so wrong that means that I can’t just enjoy the experience? I don’t know what changed. One minute I was doing well and the next, the insidious doubt had found a chink, balanced precariously on it and then slipped inside to wreak havoc amongst the happiness.
It’s just not fair (cue foot-stamping toddler tantrum). I don’t want to have to deal with part of me me telling the rest that I’d be better off dead. I don’t want to plan my own suicide in exquisite detail while smiling on the outside so that nobody will suspect. I don’t want to feel the need to hurt myself. I don’t want to analyse in minutiae every single detail of the last 48hrs and identify every petty occurrence of me behaving in a sub-optimal manner. All I want is to be happy.
And after all that. what’s the thing I want least? I don’t want to know for sure that nothing is ever going to change.