I really hate my life right now. Everyone is taking pieces and bits and time from me, it feels like my life isn’t my own. I have doctors appoinments almost every other week. I have Dance responsibilities nearly everyday, and my parents won’t get off my case for not finding a new job. My dance teacher is giving me shit for having medical appointments! are you shitting me?! Does this bitch think it’s my choice having bone problems. I have also been looking for a new job like crazy and all I ever hear from my step dad is, “Your son is so lazy. all he ever does is sit on his ass. He wil never do anything with his life.” This asshole thinks that work is more important than an education. When I try to tell my mom that I need help in classes and my dance teacher keeps us till whatever hour she bloody well feels like and then I have AP and advanced classes to do work for, but she doesn’t care. She says that since I don’t work I shouldn’t be aloud to complain that my life is hard. What the actual fuck. I just need some space to breath for fucks sake.

This has been a rant, followers sorry. I know you might not give a shit.

I don’t really know who I am anymore, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Perhaps I never knew myself to begin with. Either way, the feeling of being oblivious to oneself is overwhelming. Am I my name? My words? My actions? A combination of these? Or maybe who I am in their absence. Films make finding yourself seem so effortless, and books make it seem like a wonderful adventure, but the truth is finding yourself is a life-long journey because we’re constantly changing. Growing. Adapting. So maybe I haven’t lost myself. Maybe I’m just growing into the new me. That’s a comforting thought, I haven’t been to happy with myself lately. The thought that I might become a better me is very comforting. I might be lost. I might be changing. Either way I’m not who I thought I was, and I don’t know whether or not that’s a good thing.

I know I haven’t posted many posts about my depression and such, but with good reason. For a while I was doing really well. Really, really well, I didn’t worry about the big dark monster that haunts me all the time. As of late though I have been getting bad again, real bad. I started cutting again. We never really get better do we.

I write about you, and I hate you so much, yet all my writing makes me smile when I read it over. Occasionally I’ll let someone read some of what I write and they’ll say things like, “Wow, this is so pretty,” or “This is so relatable,” but I can’t relate to it, because I hate everything you did! So, why then, do I fall in love with you all over when I write about you…