The reality of the situation

It's really starting to hit me.
It's also forcing me to realize some things about myself that I don't like (well, even more things).
I may not be as stable as I've always said I was. I may have anxiety issues. I may have borderline personality disorder. Just like he always said. And I would get so mad.
He put up with it. Getting it taken out on him. Now I am taking it out on myslef. The shortness of breath, the panic, the dispair, the sick stomach, the racing heart. And it's just me. In my little tiny bed. With my boombox and my books. I'm alone so much now. With my roiling stomach and my racing mind.
I know (and have known) it wasn't him making me unhappy, it was always myself. So what does that mean? Is anyone happy though? Truly? Isn't it the human condition to always be wondering what else there is, how you could be better, happier? I think for many it is, but not for him. He can be mostly happy. Content. Occasional bouts of sadness, but they go away.

My sadness has always been there a little bit. Along with anger. It's always there, ready to hit me unexpectedly, along with anyone else in my vicinity.