I think that the most confusing and siturbing thing about myself, that makes it difficult for me to understand msyelf, is the way things are so divided. There is a wall inside me that goes infinitely up, infinitely down and infinitely left and right and things on one side cannot possibly affect the other. No matter what good wonderfult hign shappen in my life i can still feel horribly depressed. and no matter what horrible things happen to me i can still be incredibly happy . . it is as if the focus just shifts, for reasons i havent yet managed to decipher. It is almsot as if i jsut consiously decide, tis time to behappy, and i magically appear on the otehr side of the glass (the wall is made of glass now, sjtu so you know) and no matter wha ti see on the other side, i dotn care becuase it isnt where i am.

Him saying he loved me, isnt what made me happy. i had gone through the glass before that, what he said might have intensified it . . but if i was still onthe toher side . . it wouldnt have made a difference . . .

What is maddening about it is trying to find the trigger, and no matter how much i tell myself there isnt one i still refuse to beleive it. I keep telling msyelf that iw as depressed because my mother was yelling at me for everything i did. Or because i was lonely . . . .it isnt true. All i am doing is identifying the thigns on that side of the wall of glass (ah see ic ombined the glass and th ewall so the metaphor remains consistant) it isnt the items on the other side that make me depressed, tis the place. and it isnt the trees or the grass or the ground or the air . . just the place, and i cant blame the rain, or the sunshine . . . .jsut where i am.

I must thank Miss-Shirty for saying something to me that i really needed to hear: "Life isn't about being happy either, life is just this." It's almsot a releif to hear, in a strange sort of way. because, more often than not what makes the side of the glass even mre unbearable is feeling that i belong on the other.