It creeps up on you, sometimes.
You slowly power down without noticing.
Then one morning, you wake up and realise that you went to sleep at 4am three times in a row, that you’re getting up later, that when you’re left on your own you stare at walls, romantic films make you cry and you can’t go out in public because if you see a happy couple you might walk in front of a car.
When you finally see that you’re a miserable heap of tears, you don’t know how to make it better.
The unhappiness is like tinnitus, always in the background.
And if you don’t know where the blood is coming from, how can you tend the wound?
“You’re just creating things to be miserable about because you’re bored. ”
All my life I’ve heard this. That’s like telling a schizophrenic that it’s all in their head. Uh, hello, that’s the problem?
My brain does what it wishes, and there’s nothing I can do about my unhappiness except wait for it to go away and leave me alone.