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My life, on paper, is great. I live in a decent, middle class neighborhood, with a decent family (even though they weren’t always like that), a good significant other, I go to a decent school. My life is great. I should be happy. Right? I feel like I have no reason to be depressed or anxious or suicidal. I know people who have real struggle. I’m just a petty weirdo who constantly throws pity parties for himself. And then I hate myself for pitying myself. Why am I like this? Why can’t I just be happy?
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- 6 years ago
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