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[volatilegemini]

It's the loneliness that gets to me the most. The silence. The meaningless repetition. I'm starting to wonder if I even remember what it's like to live with someone else - like this room in my parents' house, where I spent 14 years of my life, was the only room I'd ever inhabited. I had wanted to paint my walls black. They are a powder blue. I had

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[obtrectation]

I fear that as you identify and focus on what is not present in your life, you may be excluding from perspective what actually IS present

[volatilegemini]

I think that it is both a reflection of my internal state and a lack of identifying with the place that used to be my home. Why would I decorate my walls again with stupid, silly, inconsequential bullshit all over again, only to have to rip them all down when they come to offend me, or cause me to remember painful events.

I don't think you understand just how much my depression and anxiety have affected me. Either the immense sadness and perceived pointlessness of it all completely discourages me from trying to accomplish anything (for, of course, it will always fail), or the anxiety immobilizes me with intense fear of....well, things I don't like to admit. Ask me sometime in private, if you even care to know.

That term, "internal bliss," is so far removed from any kind of reality that I can possibly imagine that it is almost a fable or a legend or a fairy tale... or a mythological beast. Beautiful, elusive, untainted, and forever out of reach.