Sometimes, on the rarest of days, I allow myself to be happy and carefree. Sometimes, I allow myself to forget about the life I'm living and just experience. These are the good days. The days where I can laugh and smile. But these days only happen sometimes. While rarer, on occasion, these days I cherish the most. These are the days that get me through the ones that follow.

On an average day, I float. Yes, you read that right. I float through the days because I don't know what else to do. I simply exist and go through the motions. These days I have to force myself to do the things I need to and for the most part, I do them. I go to class, I do my homework, and I watch mindless things on TV. I do what I have to and let the rest wait until I find the motivation to do it. I sit on my floor and listen to sad music and think about everything and nothing. On these days it is a hit or miss if I want to be around people or not.

Sometimes there are bad days. On these days I cannot do anything. I cannot find the motivation to go places, let alone get out of bed. I cannot find the motivation to eat more than a snack that I find in my room. I just lay in bed, think, and sleep. On these days I feel nothing, and it scares me. I'm scared to not feel anything because I usually feel everything all the time. On these days I can't muster up the motivation to talk to people. When I say I cannot hang out because I am sad, this is why.

Sleeping is my refuge, well sleeping and reading. Sleep allows my mind to forget, to go numb. I can escape the darkness in my head and find peace. So when you ask why I'm always sleeping, it is because when I am asleep, I am okay. Reading also allows me to be someone new. I can become the main character of a book for a few hours and be transported into their life. Reading has that magical capability.

I often question myself, why am I like this? Is it just who I am or is it something more serious? Could I have depression or am I just being dramatic? All of these questions circling in my head and yet I don't know if I want to know the answer. I express myself through my writing and that is the only way I am able to put these words out there. I don't know if I could talk to someone or if I even want to. No one wants there to be something wrong with them and I personally don't want to have to take something to be okay. There's a reason I don't talk about the inner workings of my mind.

I read a quote somewhere, and sorry I do not remember where, that asked, "How much of the weight you're carrying is your own?" The more I think of this quote the harder it hits home. I have always been overly empathetic. I go out of my way to help people when they need someone to talk to and have often been labeled the "therapist friend." I worry about every single thing in the world and overthink every possible outcome until I stress myself out to the point of breaking.

Not every day is a bad day. Yes, there are some bad days that can turn good with the help of friends and family forcing me out of bed. Yes, there are days where I can laugh and let go for an hour or so.

I wasn't trying to ask for anything. It wasn't a call for help or a plea for attention. It's an explanation. An explanation as to why I say I can't hang out today- because I am sad and what that means.

I'm not avoiding you and I'm not trying to make up random excuses as to why I don't want to hang out with you. Sometimes I just can't find the motivation.