I’m not real­ly sure what to say. I mean, I’m not com­plete­ly sure what I’m feel­ing right now. Maybe a hint of jeal­ous­ly, a touch of dys­thymia, and a sense of hope­less­ness. Everything is so light that I can’t tell what I’m feel­ing.

What should I be feel­ing? What can I feel? I feel so pathet­ic, yet com­pla­cent. Maybe writ­ing has made things worse. Usually, I feel bet­ter, because there’s always some­thing that I need to get off my chest. But late­ly, it just seems to be mak­ing me real­ize what my actu­al sit­u­a­tion is. Well, I already know what my sit­u­a­tion is, it has just giv­en me a neg­a­tive spin on it.

I wish I was very depressed. Being depressed is such a com­fort­able, and famil­iar feel­ing, that I would feel right at home. Yet I’m not, because of my com­pla­cen­cy.

Have I been able to accept every­thing? I’m not quite sure yet. I com­pare myself to oth­ers, and noth­ing seems right. For me or for them. Everything just seems so fucked up, and it sur­pris­es me.

I should­n’t be com­par­ing myself to oth­ers. It’s not a healthy thing. After all, I’m very dif­fer­ent from many peo­ple I know. Even the ones that I believe are com­pa­ra­ble to me are very dif­fer­ent, and lead very dif­fer­ent lives.

God, it just makes me sad. I can’t seem to fig­ure things out. Many things sur­prise me. And this just keeps hap­pen­ing again and again.

And I won­der, why not me?