| As long as I keep moving, I won't be able to be sad. When there are new things, people, and places to explore and discover, I will remain shrouded in contentment, happy almost to the point of mania at times.
This might explain why I was so happy last year, my first year at university. Where I knew one person in the whole town to start out with, I made many new friends, discovered how fun it is to drive hours and hours to parties in other cities, discovered that I can be self-sufficient and that a lot of good things happen to me. Sure, there were the down times like when I felt completely worthless and alone and had to rectify the situation with a pair of scissors and my thigh, but for the most part, I was all right.
Now the novelty has worn off and I'm left to deal with myself. Left to deal with the facts as I see them, and how I'm certain that when I'm happy and not thinking about this stuff that I'm just deluding myself. I feel as if happiness is an illusion, something that affects people who can't see the truth about how sad life truly is.
This flirtation with suicide also reflects my fear of permanence, for what truly is more permanent than death? And how sad would it be to die, be happy for a while, but once the novelty wears off, revert back to depression. But this time, you're dead and cannot do anything about it. At least when you're alive, you know that you have an option not to be.
I can't keep running from it, but the running might be the only thing that can keep me sane. | 
