Jenna's House of Idiosyncrasies Version 10.0 [Focus.]

“[Was is that I loved him,] or was I addicted to the pain—the exquisite pain—of wanting someone so unattainable?”

Carrie Bradshaw, (Sarah Jessica Parker's character) on Sex and the freakin' City

And at that moment, the scene set to strings and screaming with melodrama, it dawned on me:

Is it that I really like him that much, or is it that pining away and lamenting my unrequited love —infatuation—is just another way to feel bad about myself?

In the same moment it occured to me that even though I am, in fact, perfectly capable of pulling myself out of crippling depression (I have actually done it a few times in the last decade) and making things work, being happy usually makes things too static, takes away the drama and the romanticism. Somewhere along the way I was convinced these are the things that make my life worth living!

The perks of being happy and getting on with life seem fewer are farther between. There is, to be sure, that rare moment of exhilaration, but it is nothing compared to living under this constant cloud of intense feelings and things to talk and think about and feel.

Even if it is dark and lonely here, I realize now that a major part of the problem is maybe this is where I'd rather be.

The idea that I could be sabotaging myself has me a little distressed.

Or very distressed.