If someone would ask me “Are you happy?”, I would say yes.
I would definitely say that. It’s like a mask I’m wearing. Always pretending to be okay. It’s just because I don’t want people to know about my misery. I don’t want to ask them any more questions about things I don’t want to answer. Because when I answer, people get scared. I’m honest. Some people can’t handle my truth.
Sometimes, I think I’m as unhappy as a person can possibly be. But why? Why do I feel unhappy?
Sometimes, I can’t even explain why I am unhappy.
It’s the whole package, I guess. The heavy weight I’m carrying with me every day. Trying to struggle to carry it all with me during the whole day. Surviving the day with all the weight. Not letting anyone in to carry some of the weight. Carry it all myself. Although I know so many persons would carry it for me. I just don’t want them to. And then, I feel alone in my battle.
I’m battling everyday with depression, PTSD and if I’m being honest, I think I have a problem with eating too. My psychologist told me she was worried it would become an obsession for me, but it already is. I promised her last week to eat properly. So I did. I felt awful. I didn’t weigh myself for a week. But when the week was over, and I had to see my psychologist again, I had gained a kilo. I cried. I saw the gained weight everywhere on my body. My psychologist is afraid I might be getting (or having) an eating disorder. It was two days ago when she told me her concerns. And I think I might be having an eating disorder. I don’t want to, but maybe it is. Because I’m obsessed with the addiction of not eating and losing weight so easily. When I lose another pound, I’m planning on losing the next. It’s just a competition with myself. It’s addicting. And I know that it’s bad. So bad. That’s why it feels like a constant battle in my mind.