I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t know why…. I don’t know what sets it off. I don’t like it. But I can’t help it.
I have no reason to. No reason.
Try… on and off… for the past 2 years..
At least other people have good reasons… I don’t. I like to think of old problems… make them seem like a bigger deal than they really are… because it makes me feel better. But only for a while. Only until the affect of writing something out wears off.
I can’t talk about it. You don’t understand why I can’t. But I can’t. Because I don’t have any answers. And I really don’t want to hear your thoughts. I don’t want to hear what I should do, what I should feel, what I shouldn’t.
I can’t tell you about these kinds of things and expect you not to give any imput. That’s not fair to you. So it’s easier to keep quiet.
It’s easier except for times like these.
When I wish things were different.
But I have nothing to complain about, so I shut up and pretend I’m a better person than I really am.