I am 22.
I live with my boyfriend of over a year, how lovely it feels to say I've been with him for over a year, and my housemate Matt.
From the outside I have it good. But then I tell you I'm unemployed and maybe you question otherwise.
I spend my days alone- Scott working seemingly never ending shifts to pay rent and Matt often drifting through the house on a faint whisp of gin.
My friends consist of the old high school chum and his eternal fascination with the monotony of metro-fashion shopping trips and lattes, milk no sugar.
The journalist- with her golden mane, grit determination and butterfly aura.
The Catholic- and his eternal conversation of philosophy and more hidden meanings than a Quentin Tarantino film
And of course my housemate Matt- an evolved alcohol enthusiast who had almost literally carved his thighs into the recliner within a week of moving in.
Does it still look good? Should I mention the father whom, after 22 years of absence, had nestled his way into my life complete with a rich family history and more in common with me than my mother?
Here I am surrounded by people who love me, who cradle me in their lives and let me sob over missing laundry. Yet I am alone
Each day I assess the guilt or death glares earned should I not clean the house, channel surf through Foxtel until I am the t.v guide and count down the hours until the evitable falling asleep in Scott's arms whilst watching Grey's Anatomy late into the night.
I miss the mundane bitching about a boss or clients at work and almost crave the stress of losing an assignment 2 days before it's due.
I have been depressed in my life, but never before have I been just miserable. I'm well aware of everyone around me- keeping me company and trying not to show their concern. Which is why I hide it too, putting on brave faces at cafes and faking laughter in the supermarket.
Each and every day. I fight through the lonely days
