“My first psychiatrist told me that…according to the manual…grief that continues past four months is pathological…and should be meditated. Four months? For the life of my child?! …who makes these decisions?!”—Next to Normal (via butstillwepay)
I think if my friends I met on my DCP came to my house and saw who I am today, they would think something seriously wrong happened to me because I’m nowhere near the person I was last year when they knew me. And that sincerely depresses me because I was the happiest I’ve ever been, to this day, when I was in Florida living on my own, for myself. I took care of myself better when I was “on my own” than I do here. I feel less in control of my life and I have less confidence because I can’t do anything myself since I don’t have my own car/license. I have never felt more unhappy with who I’ve let myself become. I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I can’t even remember the last time I was genuinely happy and not faking a smile.
I need my license. I need a car. I need my own space. I need to stop worrying about everybody else because it’s only setting me back. I need to get out of my town because there’s nothing here for me. I need to remember who the hell I am and stop thinking I’m some inadequate little bitch. I need to stop letting past relationships keep me from making even better ones. I need to stop letting people define who I am because I sincerely don’t believe anybody here knows who I really am. I need to believe in myself.