I wish my brain was like a switchboard that I had some control over. All my memories and emotions could be controlled, turned on and off like a little switch. Would I be happy then?

I wouldn't ever sit and think and shudder at things that I'd rather not go into detail about. I would never let all my insecurities take over and keep me from living my life on a day to day basis. I wouldn't be sitting alone, awake and crying to really dumb girl movies (as pathetic as that is...) because I'd be able to switch off self loathing and self pity and I'd switch on sleep and dreaming. I'd make this night end like I want it to because I'd be able to close my eyes and escape this world, as I do every night. It's just that on nights like these, when sleep doesn't come so easy and my mind isn't quick to settle I find myself a bit lonely and a tad panicked. All things point away from the desired direction.

I hate that I can't. I hate when I feel as though I have no real control over my life. That's all it's about though, depression, mental diseases unnamed, control. It's all relative I suppose. The power of positive thought and all the mumbo that my therapist put into my line of defenses. The tricky part with my specific brain is that I am completely aware (99% of the time) of all sides of every story. Half of my mind runs like a train on whatever crazy journey it has in store for me but with the other half I actually see what I do, analyzing it, cutting it up to see how foolish I am. The bitch of it is that I'm not sure which half is the fucked up side. Where should I focus? What should I try to control, to quiet if not silence inside? Is it the melodramatic, childish, and stubborn (just for starters) side? Or is it the other half, the cold, realistic, analytical side, that just plain makes me crazy? I've always been fond of the saying "ignorance is bliss" but then there's "knowledge is power" and .

At this point I don't have a clue and I know in my heart, which at this point is the only organ that I feel that I can trust, that no amount of therapy would ever solve this problem for me. I know in my heart that I am doomed to be a two faced, slightly off, depressive, bi polar, weirdo for the rest of my life. Now the question is can I be content with that?

I'm sick of asking questions. There are too many and most of them don't have answers. I hate them all. And rightfully so I have worn out my brain on this subject right now. With a cigarette I finally feel as though my eyes may yet close before 4am this time (a rare treat) if only there were not so many misbehaving cats plaguing me right now. I swear... I lost 3 thoughts because of them in this writing session alone and not because they are "so cute".