I hate my life.
That's right, hate it. More than anything. Lots of times I blame it on my parents, but I suppose they're not the real problem. I am, of course, my real problem. But I still hate them. I am never, ever happy when they're around. I'm pretty much always depressed. Even when they're not around, I'm still never happy, though. Except for this one time...
That one time was a trip I took to my cousin's house. Now, I've taken lots of vacations before, but none as good as that one. I spent a week there. If it wasn't the happiest week of my life, it was pretty damn close. For one tiny week, my troubles, my depression, my fears were gone. For one short week, I was almost truely happy. Which is odd, because that vacation could be considered a failure. The airport lost my luggage for 3 days. We really didn't do that much, but sit around, and I was kinda bored a lot. But I was actually happy, for no particular reason, really. I suppose it was just because I was away from my parents for a week. Also, my cousin is the complete opposite of me. While I am always depressed, he is never depressed. He could always cheer me up.
But then that week ended. And what followed were some of the most horrible weeks of my life. Getting back to all the depression was bad. The calm and peace of my cousin's life were replaced with the yelling and screaming that is my life. I cried that week. It was pretty pathetic, and I hated it. And I hated how my paradise had ended so abrubtly. The begining and end of the week were totall opposites.
When I first stepped off that plane, I saw my uncle there. I started grinning like an idiot, for no apparent reason. Hell, we didn't even find my luggage, yet I kept on smiling. Then we got to their house, with me still being completely happy to be away from the crappiness. I didn't even know my cousin that well, I hadn't seen him in over a year. But within 15 minutes we were like best friends again. It was a great start...
Then the end. I got off the plane, frowning. I even got my luggage this time, but that didn't make me any happier. I got home, depressed that I was back. And the depression never wore off. It is now 2 months later, but I still think most of the depression I have now was started when I got off that plane. That week was filled with crying, misery, and hopelessness. Which is odd, because it was a fine week, and I had nothing to complain about. But let me tell you, that week was nothing compared to the next week. Because the next week school started. More on that later, though.
Sorry if the quality of my writing isn't too good. I'm hoping to get better as I write this journal. I hope you keep reading, and maybe we can both discover something about me....
That's right, hate it. More than anything. Lots of times I blame it on my parents, but I suppose they're not the real problem. I am, of course, my real problem. But I still hate them. I am never, ever happy when they're around. I'm pretty much always depressed. Even when they're not around, I'm still never happy, though. Except for this one time...
That one time was a trip I took to my cousin's house. Now, I've taken lots of vacations before, but none as good as that one. I spent a week there. If it wasn't the happiest week of my life, it was pretty damn close. For one tiny week, my troubles, my depression, my fears were gone. For one short week, I was almost truely happy. Which is odd, because that vacation could be considered a failure. The airport lost my luggage for 3 days. We really didn't do that much, but sit around, and I was kinda bored a lot. But I was actually happy, for no particular reason, really. I suppose it was just because I was away from my parents for a week. Also, my cousin is the complete opposite of me. While I am always depressed, he is never depressed. He could always cheer me up.
But then that week ended. And what followed were some of the most horrible weeks of my life. Getting back to all the depression was bad. The calm and peace of my cousin's life were replaced with the yelling and screaming that is my life. I cried that week. It was pretty pathetic, and I hated it. And I hated how my paradise had ended so abrubtly. The begining and end of the week were totall opposites.
When I first stepped off that plane, I saw my uncle there. I started grinning like an idiot, for no apparent reason. Hell, we didn't even find my luggage, yet I kept on smiling. Then we got to their house, with me still being completely happy to be away from the crappiness. I didn't even know my cousin that well, I hadn't seen him in over a year. But within 15 minutes we were like best friends again. It was a great start...
Then the end. I got off the plane, frowning. I even got my luggage this time, but that didn't make me any happier. I got home, depressed that I was back. And the depression never wore off. It is now 2 months later, but I still think most of the depression I have now was started when I got off that plane. That week was filled with crying, misery, and hopelessness. Which is odd, because it was a fine week, and I had nothing to complain about. But let me tell you, that week was nothing compared to the next week. Because the next week school started. More on that later, though.
Sorry if the quality of my writing isn't too good. I'm hoping to get better as I write this journal. I hope you keep reading, and maybe we can both discover something about me....
