Oh man have I been depressed lately. Is it a lack of gratitude that contributes to this state of mind, or is it years of living in a state of near constant anxiety that does it? I thought that quitting smoking and cutting down drinking would help ease this situation; that trying to meditate (I still can’t seem to get past 13 minutes) and getting lots of exercise (about 20 miles of bike riding a day) would help. But it hasn’t. I find myself wanting to lie in bed and cry silently, thinking terrible thoughts about slitting my wrists and bleeding out. But I don’t really want to die at all. I think the issue is feeling such intense negative emotions and not knowing what to do with those feelings and then feeling misunderstood and consequently worthless for being unable to express my feelings and communicate with other people. That is where the morbid visualizations come from. I find myself trying to starve myself down, somehow somewhere along the way I learned that a woman’s beauty is her key to happiness. The boy is somehow (usually) supportive of my sometimes insane behavior. Why he doesn’t run away and never come back when I start crying over nothing, when I skip dinner and lay in bed with the blankets pulled over my head I don’t know. He seems used to this behavior, he seems like he knows how to handle it, and it makes me sad to think of why. Why he opened the door for me after I went into a rage, throwing my bike at him and punching him in the arms over and over again when he was complaining about making him wait outside in the cold for me I don’t know. I just have really low self-esteem and I have for most of my life and I don’t know how to build it up. There are instances when it is high: when I am doing something I love and the results are good, when I am being productive at a job that I enjoy that I feel is making a difference in the world, when I lose weight or gain muscle or learn a new skill. But when I feel so bad that there doesn’t seem to be anything that exists other then the bad feelings, when I can’t stop myself from crying, when I hide my face because I know that anyone looking at me could quickly see the transparent pain spelled there, when that happens I can’t seem to pull myself out of that way of thinking, I can’t even see in front of me, let alone anything like options. Being honest here is hard. I wanted this blog to be a sort of facade, much like the personality that I present to pretty much everyone all the time, something that made my life appear interesting and fun and a place where the only appropriate emotional state was happiness. I wanted to appear witty and in control and I didn’t want to leave a trail of depressive bread crumbs for anyone to pick up. This is proof that I am not perfect, this is proof that I don’t always feel ok. Do I want to talk about it with anyone? No. I just want to get it off of my chest. My chest is where I feel it the most, a crushing, aching pain, and then my stomach too, nauseous and roiling. Maybe it is good for me. Maybe there is a lesson I am supposed to learn that only incredibly hard feelings can teach me. Maybe 19 years of having these feelings isn’t enough, maybe 20 will be the magic number where they cease to destroy me in such a way.