I spend most of my mental illness being so damn frustrated at myself. Everything I do seems so avoidable, but somehow also so unavoidable.

For instance, the other day I felt so damn lonely I could barely breathe. I thought of all of my friends who were probably seeing other people at that moment, enjoying each others company, and being happy. And god damn it, I was so jealous. Jealous that they were interacting socially, that people loved them and wanted to be with them.

Some time in the middle of wallowing in jealousy and loneliness, I was invited out for drinks with the exact friends I was dreaming about seeing.

And I fell asleep instead.

I fell asleep because I’m constantly exhausted these days with all the stresses I’m going through in my last year of university.

But what I didn’t admit at the time was that I also felt asleep because it was easier. It was easier than going out to see people who were so effortlessly happy and comfortable in each others presence. Easier than learning about all the things I had missed, all the reasons that I would never really be a big part of their lives. It was easier than trying to push aside all my insecurities and my doubts, only to have them rushing back the moment someone makes a comment that pushes me the wrong way.

And it’s frustrating that the thing I want, I can have. But it feels impossibly hard to get.

I’m constantly at war with myself. I want to have friends, and to be loved, and to feel like I’m part of something instead of an unwanted tag-along. But at the same time I want to run from everyone, fade from existence and fade from their memories so that they don’t feel obligated to help me out. I want to distance myself before they can distance themselves from me.

Because, at least in my mind, they will. I can be told as many times as there are words in the world that they love me, that they want me around, that they care. But no matter what, I can’t feel it. I will always feel like they secretly want me away, that it would be easier for them. Or, failing that, I feel that their lives would really and truly be better without me.

If I’m honest with myself, I try to make myself unloved, so that maybe people can forget about me, and I can finally die without inconveniencing anyone.

There’s no real happy ending to this one. Some days, some times when I’m with friends, I feel loved. And I wouldn’t trade those days for the world. Because everyone I love, I love for a reason, and I love endlessly.

But that old saying rings in my head, “If you love them, let them go…”

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Originally published at on March 21, 2016.

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