One of the good things about reading Thought Catalog is that you get to know that you are not the only one who self-destructs. It is sort of assuring when at the end of another year, when I feel that life is completely different but it is still the same. Like most things I say when I am emotional and slightly pissed off, this doesn’t make sense. But that is exactly how I feel.

A monumental year this has been. So many things gone awry, so much effort put in to ensure that as the year ends, life is not falling apart. But it may not be falling apart but it is still somewhere stuck.

I didn’t want to go back to drowning myself in work. I wanted to work on myself. Be happy, healthy, try to be accessible and friendly, instead I have done exactly the opposite. I have found a job that consumes me. Leaves me nothing for me. And I enjoy it. I was born like this, I think. Programmed to be a workaholic. Because being anything else would probably mean that I’d have to confront my other demons. I am better off this way.

I’ve never been good at relationships. Any sort. I don’t do the nice thing. I don’t do the secure happy thing either. I am the kind who believes in silent confrontations rather than angry outbursts, the kind who believes in the good although the obvious is right in front of me, the kind who refuses to let go when things get difficult but is icy cold even when things aren’t, the kind who is not accessible and is very easy to let go.

I’d rather not open this can of worms. I’d rather drown in work. Disappear in books when I have the time. And read Thought Catalog to know that I am not alone.

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