I lie to myself everyday. I think it helps me, but it doesn’t. I’m addicted to this feeling where everything bad is gone and my life is perfect, even though I know it’s not. I force every harsh moment out of my life until there’s almost nothing left and I’m empty without feelings. My situation is kind of like a best friend. She has some good traits and many bad traits, and those are the ones that make her different from everyone else; special. I wouldn’t want to get rid of all of the things that make her imperfect, because they’re still a part of her. Taking them away would make her empty, as I am now.