I hate being angry. I hate feeling stupid and crazy and out of control. And the worst part is that I know I do this to myself. I quantify my self-worth with a number circled in red pen or the number on a scale. I judge my achievements by measuring how many acronyms I can memorize or how close I am to death.
I try to believe that none of this matters. I am living with a false sense of security that disappears without notice. Self-doubt fills the vacancy in my mind without hesitation. I start to think that a pill would make all of these feelings go away, but that thought scares me. I moved 820 miles away to escape that part of my past, yet I find myself going back home for comfort. My life doesn't even make sense to me. Regardless of the mess of feelings I am experiencing, "I'm great" seems to answer every question thrown my way, simply out of habit. I can only be honest with a pen and paper.