At my very core, I am sad. Though I have days in which I don't feel sad at all, and even days that I might not remember what sad even means, in my quiet moments and my time to myself, I feel it. Sometimes I feel it pulling at the edge of my mind, but I shrug it off. Sometimes it pulls hard, and this is why I have a habit. It pulls hard most of the time now. Sometimes it finds me in my dreams and I carry it with me all day. It's like a warm, comfortable blanket made of small barbs that I drape around myself. Sometimes its disheartening to think that at my zenith of existence, in that moment in which I am the most happy that I will ever be, I will inevitably find myself back, warming at the fire of my inner despair. I have felt like this for as long as I can remember.