Bokelskere.no

I know depression; I feel welcome there. To believe that my life may be full of joy, laughter and understanding fills me with so much fear of disappointment that I would prefer to smoke a cigarette and not believe at all. I either want everything to be magic and mythic or I want it to be dead. But I can't take the everyday living with small disappointments and fragile victories, the grayness of maybe-it'll-work-out and maybe-it-won't. I always feel the end is right around the corner, so why even try?

Someday soon, I thought, I will have no connection to the woman I am now. It's amazing how permanent I always feel each moment is, as if the person I am at any given instant is someone constant.

The idea hit me so ferociously, and perhaps for the first time: What if she doesn't love me the way I love her? Oh, my God. What if she isn't sincere? I looked around at the collection of sullen bethrothed faces milling around us. Of course, nothing is forever.

Almost all true enjoyment of people could take place only from a distance. appreciating people was easy as long as they werent close: my father especially. Id learned to love him through seperation, but I didnt know how to communicate with him when he was right in front of me. It felt too dangerous. Being alone was the only time my breathing would come easy. In some ways Id felt allergic to my own life.