5
Mothers
It seems like a fair idea to reserve some time every evening to cry. I can't say if it's something specific that bothers me. Writing helps. I've noticed that I'm way more candid when writing with pent up emotions. I find it cathartic. As if writing these thoughts gives them a life of their own, away from me. Sometimes, it's aimless and that is fine.
It's easiest to blame it on my mother. She didn't know any better, but I have to live this life now. Do I really have to live? There's no objective reason to continue existing but I enjoy the little hedonistic pleasures. Often, they are preceded or succeeded by deep, unwanted, unpleasant thoughts, however, I'm not sure how different my thoughts would have been otherwise, anyway.
I don't have an exclusive claim on unhappiness. It's a common resource that is infinitely renewable. Today, I've been listening to Apparat. No voices in my songs today. The minor key is wonderful. Most find it melancholic but it leaves me with a sense of slight hope, for when you hit the bottom, you can only go up, of course assuming you are still moving.