I am not an unhappy person.

I really truly am not.  I just have a negative and hypersensitive reaction to most anything that happens in my life, and any feeling that I experience.  Somehow people confuse these things.

I guess if you were on the outside looking in, you might say I were unhappy.  You would see me up late every night being unproductive (i.e. avoiding laundry, dishes, shopping, etc.) and then get up as early as 4am to start getting ready for work.  You would watch my perplexing way of being the friendliest impersonable person to all my customers.  You would see them smile as I avert my eyes, eager for the line to move along.

You follow behind as I walk back home, curious as to at what point my glowing personality faded back into an exhausted and uncertain, forlorn type of character.

I get home and lift my kittens from the ground, snuggling and loving and ensuring they’ve had their fill after a day spent alone.  And I wonder.  Why can’t I just have that?  Why isn’t there someone I can depend on coming home to me and making me feel… wanted.

I’m hopeless, really.  But I’m not unhappy.  I’m just lonely.  I admit that I need someone to make me feel whole.  Despite what everyone likes to think, don’t we all?

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