I don't know what's wrong.  Why it's so broken in there. What's missing.  It's like every new thing stacks on top and it feels like that's the big thing but there's so many big things that came before. 

Self fulfilling prophecy. Maybe it's just taking me longer than I expected. 9 months,  9 years.  It all ends the same. I'm just grieving ahead of time maybe. I managed to push the writing group away. Pushed away childhood friends. They'll ask me why I didn't sleep. I don't have answers. It's like there's a hole and something is missing and I have no idea what it is. Do I want family? They're there if I want. Parents keep trying to make a connection. Is it friends? I could make new friends. Just feels like so much emotional labor. Being there for people who are never going to be there for me. Caring about people who are never going to care about me. It's not about me.  They can't. Everyone is dealing with their own life. I'm the broken one for needing. But that's what therapy is for, right? To figure out how to be okay. I'm supposed to believe that at some point I'm not going to feel this way anymore. I'm supposed to remind myself that these are just thoughts.

Maybe it's time to go through my crisis list. Laying here crying isn't doing any good.