I wonder how much part self-pity plays in my melancholia. It is as if there is something inside of me that warns me of being too happy. I experienced that sensation a few days ago, a high-pitched cheer that reached a frightening level. The next minute, I was pulled low.
I fear happiness. When I was young I got it inside my head that there were only two important emotions – happiness and sadness while everything else existed in their purview. These states of being oscillated regularly, so that if I was happy in the morning, something bad was sure to happen by evening. If everything went well the whole day, the next day was going to be bad. If a period of time went by pleasantly, the next one was sure to be miserable.
Which is why I self-prophetically become much sadder and low after a happy event has transpired. I pull my own self low, low, low on the ground.
Sometimes I look around and wonder at there really being a reality. I wonder at my existing within it. Can this all really exist? Is this some sort of a dream? But then, who is dreaming it?
When is one to make time for everything one wants to do and achieve?
I refuse to surrender. I will fight until my last breath, and I will fight against my own body even if need be. I must pursue all I want to. There cannot be a clamping down on my dreams.