I'm not happy.

After years of writing and supposed self discovery, I think it's time to come to terms that I'm unhappy. There are many things that make me happy. But I'm not. And I'll probably never be.

Because I don't know what to believe, what to say, what to do anymore. I have trouble acting normal. I have issues with everyone and everything. I'm angsty, needy, scared, insecure, broken. And human.

I don't think I want to be anyone. Not even me. But it's nice to play pretend once in a while. And I don't know what else I can do anyway.