I'm... dissatisfied with myself. To say the least, anyways. I've found that I'm not happy anymore and I can't bring myself to finish anything I set out to do. I work and work and work, not just at my job, but at school and on my personal ventures, but only in a fashion best suited for a wall flower or a speck of grain.

And admittedly, I know the problem. I know the problem very fondly and intimately. It's the solution I strive and fail at obtaining. My problem is that I can't seem to like myself. Not like that teen angsty "I hate myself" bullshit, but rather the innate feeling that I am only meant to make others happy, and because of this I can't try to just make myself happy. Maybe if I spent more time just trying to make myself happy, I'd not only be happier with myself, but healthier in my mind, body, and relationships.

Or, maybe it's not making myself happy, but rather learning to come to an understanding about myself. I feel the need to set my compass dial to some true north and to put forth all my endeavors after that one point, that one dream.

But what is my dream? That I still don't know.

I love many aspects of life and have always enjoyed many different things that others suggested I go after in my life, but I'm not sure any of those things would make me happy or satisfied at the end of my life.

Writing things out like this really helps to up my spirits. Yes, I am depressed, but I'm happy to say I'm not down and out. Not yet, anyways. I've got enough fight and desire.