You dug your nails into my hands and it hurt

I used to smile a lot when I was on my own.
I'd sit in my room and sort of not do anything at all and just smile manically at a shelf, or laugh to myself about nothing at all.
I'd sit on public transport and try to contain my amusement about something even I didn't know about, and would do an awkward 'smile into my hand while pretending to cough thing.'
I would go for walks and think about how pretty everything was, how lovely the light caught the tree, how beautiful that river was over there, how cute that dog was frolicking in the grass.
I was in love with everything. The world never ceased to amaze me, delight me. Happy people made me happy. Life made me happy. Happiness made me happy.
I don't smile on my own anymore.
Sometimes, Dad will say something only slightly insulting to me and I'll go in my room and sob for about 10 minutes.
It doesn't take me long to realise I'm not crying about Dad.
I'm crying about nothing. I'm crying for the sake of crying. I'm crying about every little thing that goes wrong that together I fall under the weight of. I cry and I cry and I don't know why I feel so sad suddenly, why something sets me off like that. I know I'm lucky. I just don't accept it.
I'm scared that my life with amount to nothing.
I'm scared that all these dreams I have in my life that I aspire to will never happen, that my life will just be one big, ordinary sequence of events.
I want everything in my life to be big, to be exciting, to be better. Better than what I don't know, but better.
I spend my whole life wanting things, and then I'll get what I want and I'll find something else I want, and I'm not satisfied until I get that too. I spend my whole life finding people that I feel are better than me, and i spend my whole life trying to be more like them. I will never be happy because I will never stop wanting to be better, wanting to be cooler, wanting to be more interesting, more likeable, more, more, more.
In the words of my favourite author, 'her life was an urgent, desperate struggle to justify her life.'