I’ve been depressed since about the age of 13. I can barely motivate myself to get out of bed; it took me years to get back on food stamps just because on some level eating isn’t important to me.

So right now the only thing that really motivates me to go to fucking rehab and turn my life around and not die, is a friend I love but who won’t talk to me.

I think if I get sober (or at least become a functioning addict, like they are) and go to therapy and stop being obsessed with them and shit, they might talk to me again. They’re used to being disappointed by people, and my drug use seems like a reason they don’t trust me (and it was a contributing factor to me pushing them away).

And for a while I was getting my life back together, until I kind of got the rug pulled out from under me.

Everyone tells me I’m just obsessed and that I should move on and I know it looks a lot like I’m twackin’ out. But I love them, and they really are different. I don’t even give a shit about dating them ( I’ve never dated anyone). I can’t just move on or make other friends because I don’t fucking like people. There’s a reason I never really even had a close friend.

It’s not even just a matter of “winning them back.” I don’t want to be another disappointment in their life.

But anyways…

Why the fuck does everyone have to rain on my parade?

Even if they still won’t talk to me after I’ve gotten sober and shit and then fucking relapse, that’s way fucking better that sitting here in my shack made out of a folding table and pallets, hitting my meth bong and snorting Ritalin until I pass out, sulking, and only leaving to charge my phone and use the bathroom.

Hell there’s a decent chance I’ll find other reasons to live. This is just the carrot on a stick to get me moving.

And anyways I think getting the love of my fucking life to talk to me again is “doing it for myself.”

It’s just like the “Love yourself first” non-advice that used to drive me insane.