2016-01-03 / 2:26 p.m.

I come here by means of procrastination because sure enough, I have come back to being unwilling to live my life as well as I should. It sounds simple when I put it that way, like it's a matter of climbing back up on the saddle and pushing off again, but being me, to put it simply and succinctly - I can't.
I'm in the middle of writing a letter of resignation from my job because I refuse to commit myself to that day in and day out for another year. For more than another month. I have no plans but I have learned what it means to be tired, to be stressed out and to have no desire to do what it means to take the next best step. I cry my way into bed at night, waking up sleepy and sad the next day. I overwork, I think too much and I can't let go. I thought that it would spell the end of the world but all I want is a lousy weekend off. All I want is to know that if I book some time off months in advance, I can have it. I don't want to miss another birthday or another wedding or birth or death. I shouldn't have to. I am twenty-six years old and I live with my parents and have no commitments. I cannot afford what it would take to move out, and I cannot afford the time to do something else that would in turn make my days have meaning again. I am stuck and so I am taking an adult decision to unstick myself. I wanted to leave the country, to move on and to once again take the next best step but I haven't saved enough and my will has been stretched thin. I could blame depression once again, but even now I don't think that that's fair. I am tired and nobody should have to live this way.

I've realised all of the above for quite some time now. I knew I'd never stay in such a downtrodden routine. I've needed more since I was born because nothing is ever enough. But maybe that urge within me - that one that tells me that this is not good enough - maybe that's what pushes me on to find that one thing or time or place that is enough. Maybe I'm not grasping at straws. Maybe I can be enough. Maybe one day I will be enough.

I spent my New Years Eve with a man that I've been seeing for fifteen months. He's from the country, his hands are rough and he's lived more years in his time than I could ever comprehend. He took me to his local pub where he bought me drinks, kissed me and told me that he'd make this year spectacular for both of us. It's been fifteen months and we've never had that conversation. While he held me on his bed later that night I told him that I love him. He told me that he's not there yet and I cried for the first time in front of him. I vowed to be my best self with him and still, he cannot love me. He told me that he will someday but that it's difficult for him to say these things. And that's okay, I told him, time to hush, but I don't know that it'll ever be okay. What sounds most ridiculous is that a psychic lady told me in October within seconds of meeting her that I was in a (sort of) relationship with an older man and she knew that I had fallen for him, but that he did not return the sentiment. She told me to leave, to walk away and to start anew and I did not listen because what would she know? I feel hurt now and I know that it is unfair. It is not my fault, it is not his.

My cousin and best friend had tried to kill herself on Monday night. Again. Again again again because there's always going to be an again. One day she will succeed. I know this, but I'm not so sure that she knows it herself.

I am muddled and I am lost and I am losing those things that I thought were a given.

This is why I don't write anymore. Everything will be okay, and still I am sad.