I’m sad today, even though I shouldn’t be. I find that I’m often pretty sad. I wish I could vent to my friends about my feelings, but the last thing I want them to be is worried for me. I’ll never tell anyone about how I truly feel, not even my therapist. I want to be seen as a happy person. But I never find myself particularly happy, and whenever I do it doesn’t tend to stay for very long. I remember in August I had some sort of crisis, I shut out and hated everyone and was convinced that everything wasn’t truly there. I remember standing on a pier near Lake Erie, my father and so many others were nearby but I felt agonizingly alone. It took me every little piece of strength I had not to jump off, and to keep myself in bed when I felt the urge to vanish into it during the night. I get like that every once and awhile. Someday I know I’ll act on those impulses, and I’ll be gone. But that’s alright, I suppose. I don’t think I’m someone who’s supposed to live for long. That’s okay I guess