Ok, so I lied. Maybe my first post here will just be a full on rant. Which I guess is fine by me. I've needed somewhere to just anonymously write stuff for quite some time. I'm sick of keeping a brave face and coping through everything just so everyone around me feels a bit better about themselves. Blah blah, me me me. See even when I'm just trying to let off some steam I read back at my writing and feel so self absorbed. Paradoxical paragraph, I know. I used to write here many moons ago and then convinced myself I was doing better. And, outwardly, I am. I have the great job, the flat, the fiance and bloody wedding to plan, but inside I know that I've never changed. I've always been this hollow, depressed, borderline personality weirdo. I've just kept myself busy over the last few years. Inwardly, however, I'm crumbling, a mix of anxiety, misery and utter fury at the fact that things never get better. The days blur into one. Why am I even around? It's a running joke between my other half and me that I literally am good at nothing. Average. Not musical, sporty, clever enough, no talents. I can do things 'okay' and that's an achievement. So one starts to wonder why they are sticking around. Nobody needs me. In fact, using my wonderful Logical Brain - how twisted the one thing that should help makes you over analyse everything - tells me that actually, for every fucked up situation in my life there's been one common denominator. Me. Logical Brain tries to tell me that Depressive Brain is utilising the fact that these things I have been through, the illness, everything that has happened to me does not mean they were my fault. But I can't deny the clarity of hindsight and just how many times I've fucked up. I remember everything. I keep pushing and pushing and pushing and I'm running out of road. I'm so tired. Nothing really changes. I'm still living with these disorders, been through years of medication and therapy... yet at best I'm averaging life. Not really encouraging to think I have another sixty years of struggling to get through. I have a much shorter temper these days than I used to as well, and I struggle to not snap at those closest to me. Sometimes I get furious at imagined situations. A lot of times. But, nature of the beast, I'm furious at myself for snapping because they'll leave me. It's happening already, friends distance themselves, family too. And I literally can't see what I'm doing wrong. I try to be logical and realise we all work long, strange hours and have busy lives... but then you start to doubt. More later.