Sixteen weeks ago I had the greatest day of my life.
I climbed the mountain.
Received everything I've ever wanted.
And I've seen my joy turn to ashes in my mouth.
I am depressed.
I've lost my sense of purpose.
I'm walking the earth waiting to die.
I've tried to be more outgoing.
Hanging out with friends, going out after work, going on dates.
It just serves to remind me how alone I truly am.
I've been drinking a lot these last three months.
I don't binge drink or get blackout drunk.
I don't make ill-advised decisions.
I just... drink. It makes the people I'm with bearable.
Hell, I even get honesty out of them for a change.
I need to be anti-social.
Happiness doesn't come from people.
It comes from within.
I need to figure out what that's going to take.
What used to work no longer will.
This isn't a cry for help.
There are people who care about me.
I'm letting them know that this is what I'm going through.
And I have no idea when I'm coming back.
