I live life as if assuming I won’t live to have a long life, and I can’t remember the last time I didn’t think this way.

Every night I go to bed just slightly disappointed (some nights more than others), that I don’t have a fatal disease, and I wonder (and hope) my expiration date is nearer than I could imagine.

But my fear is that I’ll end up living a long life, because that would be just my luck.

Some people just weren’t made to live in this world long, and I really feel like I’m one of them. Or I hope that I am.

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deep track.

“She wasn’t radio friendly. She wasn’t the song with the hook you can’t get out of your head. You’d have to listen to her a bunch of times to appreciate her, and then you’d be glad you did.”

I realize when I think about my life in the future, that I don’t even think about anything past 60 (which may be normal). I don’t want to live to an old age. Especially with chronic health problems. And the way my brain functions (or doesn’t function).

Life will always be a struggle with me. Regardless of how many stressors are or are not in my life, no matter how ‘good’ things may go, it all feels like a mountain to climb, to appear like a functional adult like most other people. But even when I’m happy and having a ton of fun, there’s still this underlying depression, disillusionment and general apathy under the metaphorical carpet that is my life. It’s like the smell of cat pee which is so hard to get rid of even after you clean (multiple times). And then it feels like it’s a part of your identity.

And I wonder if people generally go to bed and wake up in the morning ready for whatever comes. I wake up after not enough sleep, and feel slightly disappointed that I did. It takes so much effort to get out of bed and shower, and then get out of my shower and put myself together.

When will I have a spring in my step? When will I feel super excited about whatever may come? Will I ever want to date someone again and let them into my life and soul and thoughts? Will I ever be able to accept compliments when I get them? Will I ever feel like I’m more than an inconvenience and pity friend and convince myself that people who care about me won’t be disappointed in me and bounce as soon as I do something wrong?

Someday I will be able to accept compliments without feeling uncomfortable and thinking that the person complimenting me either has no idea what they’re talking about or is just trying to be nice or doesn’t really mean it.

That someday may however be when I’m just a jar of ashes.

Perhaps, the problem is not the intensity of your love, but the quality of the people you are loving.

I pass by people, grazing them on the edges, and it bothers me. I’ve got to admire someone to really like them deeply.” – Sylvia Plath, Unabridged Journals 

“his eyes were the same colour as the sea in a postcard someone sends you when they love you, but not enough to stay.” -warsan shire

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