I told myself that I’ll start writing again soon. I really don’t know when to start again or if I should start again. This may bore readers (as if someone reads my posts), but I don’t think I have a choice. This is the only thing that I can think of where I can be myself, where I can rant, where I can open up.
I’m honestly so tired. I work, and work so that I can continue living… but it seems i do this so i can continue living to work. There is no life in me. Routine. Redundancy of life. I miss laughing out loud, I miss spending time with friends, I miss my family. I miss my daughter. I miss my life. I miss so much in life and having a life. Even to spend a little time being me, being the happy me.
Is this brought about me being sick? I’m not sure. What I am sure of is that it’s my choice, I can choose to be happy, and I keep telling myself that I will be happy… I can choose to be and be happy.
Unfortunately, I’m not.