5:34 p.m. - Friday, May. 20, 2016
Happiest times
I wonder if my parents ever suffered from depression. I don't think they did because they don't seem to have much understanding of the way I am and I don't feel close to them because I feel like a dissapointment to them. Why can't I just be stick to things and be successful? I know my dear grandad suffered and that's why we developed a strong bond in later years. God I miss him, He was the only family member I could relate to apart from my sister but sibling relationships are complicated.
Being depressed is complicated. You feel ahamed and self indulgent for struggling. I hate myself when I get like this. My body stiffens up and I feel disconnected and I barely have the strength to feed myself. Fearing that things will get worse. Even writing about it feels like a cliche, but most diaries I read are by people battling with anxiety and depression. Happy people don't write. When I am happy again I will still write, I promise it will be more interesting and funny.
Last night, after our final Spanish class, we all went out for drinks and finally got to speak in English and we all told our story, our reason for being here. One Polish girl told us she had left a good well paying job in Warsaw to move here with her new Spanish boyfriend and now she can't find work. Someone asked her if she was happy and she said she was the happiest she'd ever been in her life. Which was sweet but then I realised I wished I could say the same thing. I don't know when I was happiest. Probably when I was 17. But that can't be true because it was a traumatic time for me with my first boyfriend. The happiest times were when I was laughing the most. Everyday.. But those times were tinged with deep sadness too. So I really don't know. Travelling the world was a good happy time but I was also missing somebody. Goddamit, maybe I have never been completely happy and content.
