Maybe I can never truly be happy. There are, moments though. These moments are rare and are far in between , and while they make me feel as if there’s hope for myself, maybe there isn’t.

Close to being Thirty.

There , I said it.

Life isn’t what I imagined it would be. Somehow it’s better , AND it’s worse.

For all the wrongs of my life, there’s just one right, and no matter what I do to balance the scales, one push forward brings me one back. Give, take . Push, pull . For every moment of elation, there’s being one of gloom. I sometimes look at the skies and smile like a crazy person. Oh ye Gods.

When I was small, I couldn’t wait to grow up. Times were hard, our lives were difficult, and we needed a certain amount of strength, a certain amount of coldness, a certain amount of ability to not put up with bullshit.

In my adolescent years, when I messed things up, I was glad I did, coz I was done, and I could move on. I’d resolved a lot of my own issues.

In my late twenties, I realise, I have a whole new set of issues that I never foresaw. It makes me angry.

It scares me who I could become.

I constantly try not be other people.

I know everything I do not want to be.

I do not want to be THAT person. And if someone told me what to do with my life, I’d want to bite their heads off.

I just want to be happy. But a part of me, completely refuses to budge.

My morbidity never goes away.


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