Not that you'd even notice

I am depressed again. I know I am. I can feel it all inside me, all around me, hanging there, weighing me down like a heavy shroud. 
I am robotic. My speech is repetitive, automatic. 

I had sex with Alex because I thought it would make me feel better. I did not orgasm, can't seem to orgasm even by myself. The sex felt more intimate than it should have and I enjoyed the feel of his skin pressed against mine way too much. The way he said my name was emotive, not sexual. It should not have felt like that. 

He has had sex with 11 people. I have had sex with 48 people. 

How different we are. 

How badly I want to be held. 

How desperately I need to write again, but the uncertainty always takes over. 

I am not good enough. 

I just want someone to stroke my hair until I fall asleep. 

I miss her more than anything. That was real, intense and way too short-lived. I hate those 832 miles now just as much as I did then. Why is everything so ephemeral? 

I cant stop thinking about her and I'm trying to find ways to talk to her but I know I shouldnt because she is happy and I have had my chance. She is doing better without me. 

Jag saknar dig.