Life makes me itch

Life makes me itch and squirm. It’s getting harder and harder, which is expected, but it feels as though my body isn’t growing accustomed to a higher threshold for hardship. It feels as though my body is instead rebelling, intentionally making itself weaker so I’m more sensitive than I really should be about inconsequential things. I feel things too strongly now, my mindset being that the happy things last only a minute and the bad things last forever. I’m blowing things out of proportions these days, my mum says I shouldn’t eat too much chocolate and I get resentful, thinking she’s fat-shaming me. I’m only at peace by myself. I get angry, angry, angry so often that it’s fortunate I’m usually alone. I feel broken down all the time even though nothing has happened to me and I really should be grateful for everything that I have. That’s another thing, the guilt at being constantly sad over nothing, it cloaks me, I carry it on my back everywhere I go, pissing myself off at how depressed I get in a not at all depressing situation. But I can not shake the sadness any more than I can shake the guilt.
I can not stand my family. Honestly, I’m never so angry as when I’m around them. And that’s really too bad. I have vague thoughts about how I might not like them as people if they were not my family and I wasn’t obligated to love them. The situation is no better with my ‘friends’, all of whom I feel uncomfortable and only a surface version of myself with.
I don’t know. It seems that I am either depression prone or I just need to develop a thicker skin. I’m hoping it’s the latter for obvious reasons. Hopefully this will end as one of those cheesy teen angst stories where ‘it gets better’ and I can look back on this from a better place in life.

This is pretty pathetic I know. But it is my blog.


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