Psych.

There are so many things I could do, if only people did not expect me to do them. Once something becomes an expectation, I fall short. I’m doomed to forever be the one who disappoints the ones she cares about most.

It’s funny how you can be around the ones you love and still feel alone. Sometimes I feel like a piece of furniture. Something you know is there and expect always will be, so there is no need to pay it any special attention.

I am hungry for something and I am not sure what.

Some days, not even your prescribed cocktail of psychotropic medications can keep all the demons at bay. Some days, you can’t get out of bed. So you don’t. And everyone is disappointed that you couldn’t be something more stable than yourself.

I am learning that I need to allow myself bad days. So I do. I am learning that it is okay to have good days. I am still waiting for those to come around.

I am trying to remember how to love me, since I cannot expect others to do the things I cannot do myself. It’s a slow process. I don’t love me; just Jennifer. Jennifer loves me the way you love something that will always be there. I want to be loved the way you love something with an expiration date. Intensely. Consciously. That isn’t Jennifer. Nor is it me.

I think I could get better if people would just stop expecting things from me. And by people, I mean myself. If I could just stop expecting so much, always feeling like I’ve failed before I’ve even begun.

I psych myself out.

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