My problem is not that I am depressed with things I cannot have or things that will never be. It’s that I’m depressed with things that are. I don’t like where I am and I don’t like having regrets.

I regret leaving home, I regret not focusing more on my studies in school, I regret sacrificing for others, I regret missed opportunities, and I regret not acting on my feelings given the chance. I regret making my cousin lie when I was 12! I regret that I didn’t stop by my grandma’s room when I was allowed to go into my room and get some more of my things when I was in foster care. I regret secluding myself from one foster family that was really nice; though I loved being with them, they thought I didn’t want to be there and moved me again.

I regret my first kiss, I regret my first ‘time’, and I regret the ones I missed out on. I regret not taking action. I regret doubting myself. I regret not having the true confidence in myself that I try so very much to have.

And more often than not, I regret spitting out so much truth to people.

Sure, truth is good. We should all be honest with each other, but too much truth just is not necessary. Such could be exemplified in the movie ‘The Invention of Lying’; that was just too much truth–even unnecessary. If no one asks, you shouldn’t think you have to tell.

I don’t know when/how to shut up.

And part of me just does not want to have the burden on myself alone I think. I mean, it is the only thing I can think of to be so idiotic. Everyone else keeps their shit to themselves, why can’t I?

And then it scares me that I may just be fucked up in the head. Maybe I’ll end up pushing everyone away. A hermit.

Yet I don’t want to be like that.

I want friends, family, and lovers. I want relationships. Yet, I feel like such a burden, that I’d much rather be one to myself than add to others. I find solace in solitude. But I also find anguish.

And that would be why I would like blogging here so much; it is not until I free my thoughts [open and honestly] that I can begin to make sense of them. Perhaps that is why I push people away: I don’t want to be a burden.

I don’t want people to feel obligated that they have to make me happy, give me what I want, or walk on egg shells around me. I don’t want to cause them added stress, negative emotion, or time because of me.

Yet I want to be considered….

Maybe it was cause my mom always said we were the reasons for all their wrongs. Maybe it is cause I don’t have as much confidence in myself as I would like to believe I do. Maybe it’s cause I can’t accept that someone else would actually care about me for me rather than what I can give them. Maybe it’s because I just don’t know who I am.

How fucked up am I???

I’m not lost, just not found….