The nights – they’re definitely the hardest.
It is almost as if my brain is so adjusted to being most active and not to mention depressed during the nights, that the sadness comes regardless of how happy I’ve been that day. Or week, or even month.
However, I know that this is just mental illness and maybe also the fact that I’m simply not used to being happy yet. But that’s okay with me, because I can at least recognise that a bad night doesn’t mean a bad life. It just means a bad night, nothing more and nothing less.