Problems

We all have our own problems.

I don't have any real problems. It's all self-created shit in my head.
Depression is my oldest friend, it comes and goes from day to day, like the many people I have met throughout my life time thus far. I was once told I am an insightful, interesting and intelligent person, although I disagree. I am convinced I am ignorant, or may be just out of my depth. I feel emotionally 40 years old, and behave like a 4 year old. Some separated, torn up, broken soul, hurt by many, can barely comprehend the events of her own life. Thus far.

I flick through the television, I read flatly through novels, self help books, admiring the language, the themes and the context, and then invent some deeper meaning, dragging myself through further torment. All my actions are choice, and then coincidence/fate steps in and offers me further decisions to make and I just can't handle that because I hate change, and I hate taking responsibility.

I think every one is shitting on me. It's karma after all. I'm not a good person. I am as much Satanic and Lord Of the Flies, as are the people dropping bombs, and raping small girls. I just demonstrate my evil in other outlets. I don't know whether to get rid of all my possessions, take a coach and leave, or stay and endure the next few years ahead of studies to pursue my dream of becoming a conventional citizen, and someone who can be respected and accepted in society, as a teacher.

But we never think we're good enough, smart enough, strong enough, motivated enough. I just want to sleep all the time and let life pass me by, my dreams are waaaaay more fun than reality. Even when I do fun stuff like, socialising and hobbies, watching movies, listening to music, and writing. My creative standpoint.

My linguistics are getting poorer each time I write now. I was considering writing a children's books and trying to make a living from such a muse. 

I find comfort in watching shows such as Judge Judy, Jerry Springer, and advertisements.

I've tried the pills, the counselling, the books, the online advice, my family and friend's support, and with all due reverence, I think this psychosis is just a part of me. It was a transition during the time I was smoking a hella lotta pot, and it seems to have unveiled or 'triggered' if you may, and unlocked this rampant creature with in me.

I am constantly still, but heading some where. 
I am always producing theories that will shortly bury themselves into my unconscious, only to later appear as imagery in my slumber, that I will never share with another human being. Ever. It is sad. We are all the same yet completely different to each other, all by genetics. Science. It's even more distressing whilst, I cannot trust other people, but now I fear my own irrational perspective. God knows what crazy crap I'm going to embellish with hell next.