When the World Caves In

I have no real problems.

When I do have problems, though, my friends are much to busy to hear about them, and really, I'd rather not tell because they're so insignificant. I can't take it. Why does everything come easy to me? I'm smart, pretty, creative, musical, nice, in a good relationship, I have a nice family. The fact that I have no problems also creates the problem of repeats. I have nothing to complain about, so when I finally get my say in it's about the same thing. Honestly, though, none of my friends have a right to complain. I know your life may suck, but at least you have food, a bed, a house. I hate when I say to myself, "I want that," because I don't need it. I already have everything I need.

This perfect life is going to drive me into a spiraling depression.

See ya,
Nova.