When will i ever be happy again? When will I ever be present? When will I feel something other than remorse, regret, sorrow and numbness? It is not stupidly enough a matter of changing scenery: things would only get worse without some sort of stability, some sort of structure. But I feel as if I am pretending and increasingly find it difficult to live with myself: I am hurting everyone, I am cold and broken. I do not want to die but I also do not want to continually put the people that love me in this predicament. The therapist had said to me just as I was leaving: it is a terrible thing to feel like you’re second rate; it most suck some of the pleasure out of your life if not all of it.
When will I be free of myself?