I am not okay.
That’s a lot to admit coming from someone who’s learned to shy away from people whenever I feel this way. It’s funny yet shitty to admit that I’m not okay ~ I mean after everything that’s happened? Well.
For those who don’t know, I suffer(ed) from clinical depression and other things that I’m hesitant to disclose here. “Suffer” is an understatement. If you’re reading this now, and if you knew the person I was between 2011-2013, then you probably get why. You see, I wasn’t always like this. I’d like to say I was the life of the party, but I was most likely the kind of girl you hate seeing whenever you walk into a bar, the i-don’t-give-a-fuck cray cray person smoking her lungs out, while dancing to the beats of Swedish House Mafia & Zedd, or the sad lonely drunk girl crying on the side wanting to do stupid things because another guy broke her heart. I was all that, admittedly.