My worst times are the times that happen in my head. When bad things happen to me, I get frustrated and irritable, but I much prefer that to those times when it's all in my head. There's no escape. After all, wherever I go, there I am with me.
To put it all very simply, I'm not happy. I'm not satisfied. I'm just not happy. I don't know what to do. It's not that I need God. I mean, I do, but I'm doing fine with God. I'm happy there, and he's helping me. It's other than that. The thoughts that don't leave me alone. I think all the time. Even my dreams are bad.
Last night, I had the kind of dream that bothers me the most: a searching dream. I hate searching dreams. You never find what you expect. Either you never find what you're looking for, or you find something that's wrong. Like searching for you dog, and you find it, but it's got a disease. Or you're looking for a bathroom, and all the stalls are occupied. Or you're searching for a mirror, but when you find one, your reflection is all wrong.
Last night I was searching for a person. People are the worst, because they're, well, people. Everything about searching for a person seems ten times more realistic than searching for a mirror or something. Ten times more realistic, ten times more urgent, ten times more difficult, and ten times more awful. It was the pinnacle of my hidden bad times recently. I don't know.
I'm not trying to depress everyone, I'm not trying to say something profound, I'm not trying to teach a lesson, I'm not trying to drum up sympathy. I don't know what I'm doing.
I'm just typing.
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