It's a flaw of the human condition that at our lowest we continue to seek out sadness. That depression finds depression wherever it exists. It's another documentary on the homelessness crisis in Britain. Its the mental goodbyes to living, breathing love ones whose death has only occurred in the mess of my imagination. Its the desire to tally every dollar spent to give tangible proof to a poor financial situation. Its the deliberately insufficient jackets that let the cold creep into my bones as I prove to myself that I can feel worse.
But I want to feel better.
I want to wake up and be motivated by excitement instead of stress. I want to feel the joy of running with the wind in my hair instead of savoring the pain of each foot hitting the ground. I want to hold onto the feeling of being tangled in his arms smiling over the city lights from 37 floors up.
I want to feel normal.
'Perspective.' Apparently, is what I need. I need to realise that of all the problems of all the people in all the world, mine are trivial. But I know. I know, and the weight of the knowledge of all of that suffering that I am powerless to prevent is crushing. But I keep reading, watching, crying over other people's stories because I feel like I owe it to them, because for a moment I was swallowed by my trivial problems and I forgot about theirs. I could feel worse.