I haven’t been well for quite some time, and I feel like it’s been so long that to tell people—tell her especially—how bad I’ve been for the last month would make them mad at me for taking this long to show up to my own invitations (by the way, thank you so much for coming along).

It’s hard for me to tell people how I feel. I get frustrated and anxious because I feel a deep need to justify it all, and by the end of the day, I stay up late not eating, not sleeping, not writing—literally watching League of Legends streamers and arguing with my girlfriend about something I regretted saying just as it came out of my mouth. And to top it all off, I get angry at her even though I love her to death.

I can’t stop my cycles of self-rewards that I’ve made up to keep myself in this vegetative state since the last time I broke my head over existing. I thought that I had gotten better, you know. I really did. And I think I had gotten better; I just got comfortable hating and forgiving.

Soon I’ll be 20, and I’m so mad that I ain’t got much to show. Looking back nowadays, I know that the thought of death has been a refuge, or even better, a justification for what I haven’t done “yet”. It’s easier to forgive myself if I say that I’m suicidal. And that in itself is kind of funny. I don’t want to die, but I’ll pretend just for the safety of being a falling young boy who still hasn’t got a hold of it.

I’ve gotten better
At getting better
And I’ve gotten better
At being me

I love this song; I’ll make it happen this time. I’ll get good. I deserve myself. Movimiento es vida.

PS: I’ve gotten over this bullshit of not going to the psychiatrist 🙂