#4

I’m feeling mentally a bit better now. Planning ahead really makes me feel less stressed. I’m really tired of the constant comments on how skinny I am (total lie, btw), how little I eat, and being pushed to eat more. I was really sick today, so I slept a lot and listened to music all day. I went out for a walk in the evening. While lying down, I thought about something my brother said to me a month ago: ‘You enjoy making yourself miserable.’ Do I? Am I addicted to my sadness? Maybe he’s partially right. I’m so used to being alone and sad that maybe I’m trying to avoid change.

But I don’t think that’s the reason I didn’t want a relationship with the people who approached me. They weren’t people I could ‘love.’ I never felt drawn to them; nothing about them interested me. The way they talked, their interests… I was confident I didn’t even like them. When you’re not interested, even talking to someone feels like a chore. I couldn’t even get myself to say a single word, especially when you have nothing in common. Maybe I’m being too picky. All the people I’ve ‘loved’ never liked me back. It seems impossible to find someone you love who can love you back. Mutual love.

If Aristophanes’ approach is right, when will I find my other half? What if he’s dead already or somewhere too difficult to find? Metaphorically, I do believe Aristophanes is right. Humankind is cursed with the notion of ‘love.’ Just like death, once it enters your mind, you can never be free of it. I’ve coded this into my head in such a way that both concepts feed each other. At first, I thought love could be the only solution to my despair. The lack of love then fed my despair, and now I’m spiraling into this endless cycle. Lovelessness wasn’t the start of my sadness, so I can’t fully blame it.

Yap, yap, yap… Me and my stupid rants about love and depression. I’m sorry…

I’ll continue reading my book and then sleep.