See I had plans and now I'm sitting on my bed crying hysterically because I'm depressed and I can't find the wherewithal to leave my fucking apartment. This is the cool thing about depression, no matter what's going on in your life it fucks it up. Last week I met this great guy who I adore and who is handsome and smart and kind and has glasses and a beard and makes me wet in the panties area (sorry for TMI).
We had a cool Valentines day planned and now I'm sitting on my fucking bed sobbing hysterically thinking I probably don't want to be alive anymore. I made him this great collage of a tree with hearts all around it because he loves trees and it took me hours to make and now it's sitting next to my bed like a forgotten thought.
He didn't tell me what he had planned for tonight but I think it was something great. I decided the least I can do is tell him what's going on and he seemed bummed. Fuck. Here I am sitting on my bed, crying hysterically, on the verge of a panic attack, when I could be out having an amazing first Valentine's Day with an amazing, smart, lovely, fantastic dude.
My brain hurts. My heart hurts. I can't for the life of me figure out why I can't get out of my bed and get dressed and go meet this awesome guy and have a lovely, normal night. Instead I'm going to sit here sobbing and there is literally no explanation in the fucking world that can make sense of this.
I'm so tired of being depressed. I'm so tired of being unable to do the most mundane things, even fun and enjoyable ones. I'm sitting here thinking what the FUCK is wrong with me??? I wish I had some answer, any answer. Instead it's just me and my depression sitting here sadly for no reason at all. Fuck fuck fuck.