10.11.2002 | 1:20 p.m.
unhappiness need not always be depression.

This entry is the love-child of frantic scribblings behind research material and my left arm. Any incoherency, therefore, can be attributed to its parents.

Nothing makes sense to me right now. How can I know what to do when I don't understand myself? I haven't felt this drained in a while. I want to run away from who I am. Last month, it felt like I was finally learning to accept myself. After ages, I began to like myself; I concentrated on the good, worked on banishing the bad. I had the strength and motivation to make decent self-esteem possible. I actually started feeling good about myself. It wasn't "I may as well accept myself." It was "Woah. I can be pretty cool.."

Dr. Glandien and Dr. Seago's praise was ego-boosting, I was writing again, Shoaib was in love with me, I was socialising almost every night: When it rains, it pours. Too bad it doesn't last longer. Now that I've finally reached that level of self-acceptance - the archives of this diary will prove what a mammoth task that was - I've apparently alienated my friends. It feels like the only time I can make and keep real friends is when I'm being someone else completely. That just doesn't seem right. It makes me infinitely unhappy...

At the end of the day, the only friends who have stuck by me no matter what have been Kanika, Anam, Karishma, Jenny and Daisy. I feel like such an ass for dismissing my Bombay friends so often because I can't always relate to their mentality. It doesn't matter. They have been my friends for over ten years, and considering I'm only 18, that's a bloody long time. Yeah, so they all want to watch XxX. You know what? I don't give a damn anymore. They care about me regardless of anything else. Too bad I didn't realise earlier.

deja vu? | jamais vu?