Un-epiphany;

It's a revelation that's not really a surprise-I'm unhappy.

I'm not sure why and that makes me crazy. It doesn't make any sense for me to be unhappy. I am quite honestly, one of the luckiest people on earth. I have a great, good-looking, funny, sociable, interesting and loving boyfriend. I have a job that pays, holds my attention, doesn't tax me physically and where I am (generally - but that's another story for another day) treated with respect and affection. I have nice things, accommodation in a prime location in one of the best cities in the world, opportunities and spare time. I'm attractive, relatively interesting, intelligent and almost effortlessly in shape. My family is amazing, supportive and so much fun. I am accepted, loved and treasured.

But I am completely and utterly hung up. If I put all the energy and time I currently spend agonising and despairing over my body into actually working out, staying fit and active and healthy - I would be in incredible shape. Instead, I cry and moan and bitch about how bad I feel and how much I don't want to do actual work. It's pathetic. So ridiculous. How ungrateful.

I complain about being bored. About feeling stressed. About not being anywhere in life, about not having enough money, about not wanting to see people and also about not having enough friends. I complain about my job, my boyfriend, my parents, my body, my apartment.

And beyond all that, with the groaning and moaning and wasting of time. There's something deeper down; an undercurrent of genuine despair, disappointment and- dare I say it? - depression.

Is it back? Or am I just being dramatic and whiny. Who knows? I don't.