It

It doesn’t let me sleep or eat or study.

It makes me worry about every tiny thing 100 times more than I probably should.

It makes me crave company and run away from people at the same time.

It makes me create scenarios in my head where everything is magnified and way worse than it probably is in reality.

It makes me stammer and sweat. 

It makes me run. It makes me hide.

It makes doubt myself all the time even for things I’m good at.

It makes me angry and rude.

It makes me feel I don’t deserve friends or love or kindness or happiness.

It makes me believe that any tiny thing that might go wrong will be the end of the world.

It tells me I’m good for nothing.

It stops me from trying.

It drains me.

It makes waking up in the morning the most difficult thing in the world.

It makes sleepless night unbearable.

It’s always there with me. Sometimes more prominent than other times. Sometimes hidden. It makes me want to scream, but I don’t. It makes me hurt, when I’m physically not hurting. It scares me. It scares me a lot. I fight it. I battle. Some days I win. Some days I lose. When I win I barely make it to the finish. When I lose I lose hard.

Happiness

I often ask myself this question, why are you not happy man? Why are you not happy? 
On bad days I feel it’s because I am lonely and weird. Because I drive people away, because I scare them. Because I have no one to talk to about things that matter. Because my target pool of prospective love interests is almost non-existant. Or because I’m ashamed of myself, of the person I am, my thoughts and beliefs. Or maybe because I think too much. Or I just meet the wrong people all the time. Or maybe I’m all the wrong people within one person.
People have told me that I have a tendency to play victim, that I hold on to stuff and people long after they’re gone, that I’m delusional. Is this why I’m unhappy?
On days when I can think more rationally, I blame my unhappiness on my depression which recurs and which, like a loyal friend refuses to leave my side, or my anxiety which makes me believe that every​ tiny thing that goes wrong or that might go wrong is the end of the world, which makes me feel stupid and incompetant and uncool all the time. I blame it on the fact that all these years of feeling unloved and unwanted in my head have made me almost incapable of ever being acceptable to love. That I yearn to hug people in my dream, that holding hands with a person seems like a luxury​ I never seem to afford.
Maybe I’m unhappy because I undersell myself. A very smart friend told me it’s because I try too hard. I am clueless as to what I can do to be happy more often, change myself, feel less or not feel at all, pretend to like things I don’t like, be around people I don’t feel comfortable around, be tough? I really don’t know how to be happy. I always tell people I was a happy kid, I don’t know how to be her anymore though.
On most days waking up  is an extremely onerous task. Talking to people, looking at them is difficult, starting or finishing even small things is difficult. Eating, sleeping, going out with friends, wishing people on their birthdays​, stepping out of the house is difficult. Smiling at people or returning a smile is difficult.
On days like these I run, I hide. I walk on the roads, in the heat, in the rain, all by myself. I go to crowded places and sit there for hours to try and feel less scared. I do desperate things. Things I’m not proud of.
These days make me feel like shit, like I’m up to no good and will never be. I feel like I’m wasting my life away, when I could be doing so much more, writing papers, making friends, interning, studying.
I still don’t know who to blame for my unhappiness, as people tell me, my attitude towards life or do I blame it on something beyond the control of my conscious will.
It’s not that I don’t want or try to be happy. I do. I don’t entirely give up on things, even on the worst of days. I try, I get tired of trying but I still do. I don’t know how to help myself after a certain point. Some days I just exist. Maybe I’m wasting​ away my life. Or maybe it’s not something I can help. I guess I will never be sure.