Have I died?
Is this my life, or someone else's? And if it is 'mine', do I control it, or just live within it?
Are the people I once knew the same people, or are they becoming lost from their former selves too? Will we all recognise each other in years to come, or will we all be so estranged from the people we were when we were friends that the recognition is only skin deep?
Can any one hear my screaming?
I want out. I want out of whatever I've put myself into. And every time the woman from the 'anxiety and depression NHS clinic' calls and asks the mandatory questions about if I want to die, have considered dying or am trying to hurt myself in any way, I have to laugh at her. No, I don't want to die, I want to fucking LIVE, and I can't. I'm stuck in this existence without the joy of living, feeling, breathing, laughing and hoping.
I want my life to be back on track. Why did I ever decide to do a masters? Why did I ever decide to move home?
If I had the money, I'd have gone already. But I'm more broke than ever before.
For once, I can tell my ex that yeah, he has a point - money does lead to happiness - only because right now, money would make me happy. In every other situation he's still a douche for saying that no one is happy without money.
Here's hoping he's as miserable as I am, yet with a bank full of dollar.