Last night I read some fluff novel by that chick who wrote The Devil Wears Prada. I finished it somewhere in the wee hours of the night, and wanted to either kill myself or die immediately after. I was so fucking depressed for some reason, and I don't even think I can begin to articulate why in the light of day
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He's right: give yourself a break. There are enough people who want to fuck with you in this world. You should be on your side.
xoxo
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I'd be worried if that sentance read something like: "What a fucking pussy I am. Who cries cuts themselves while drinking alone and abusing vicodin in the middle of the night over a book with a happy ending?"
Crying? Perfectly healthy response to a wide range of emotional stimuli- even things that are light and fluffy.
As for feeling depressed by a happy ending, was it out of shame for feeling so emotional over it? Or possibly a "this happy fantasy made me think ver what I wish I could change in my life?" sort of thing?
~s!
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I cry at movies/commercials/songs/books all the time with no problems. I should have probably explained myself better.
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Take care of yourself Murph.
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