Cut the ropes

Does happiness count when it exists only in the presence of other ppl?
I used to have the joy of a frolicking school boy on the jungle gym with only recess left in his school day. Now I don’t even know if I have happiness.

When is it acceptable to make the announcement that you’ve reached your limit with something? That there can be no more pushing forward? No more persevering? No more killing yourself to strive for something that is just not worthy of your strife? And what if you really did die over such things? Would ppl see that as a worthy death? Would they proclaim at your funeral that you were a passionate, motivated girl who persevered in times of adversity and shared her joy and love of life with others? I think even hearing those words would cause tears to fall from my corpse’s eyes; they’re so untrue anymore.

How often is normal to wish to die? Once a month? A week? Twice a month? When do you call truce w/ your pitiful soul and start telling ppl you’re depressed and begin medicating to numb the dull?
Are you supposed to tell ppl these feelings? If I confide in you are you going to empathize w/ me? Or are you going to hold my hand and try to console me? Don’t hold my hand.

How is it possible to lose oneself so much? I know that some drops of my essence have evolved for the better…but was it worth losing my passion and perseverance, my joy and frolicking abilities?
When do I get to say, “I’m done.” Cut all of the ropes and let me fall.
I do nothing but piss my time away here anyways. Piss my time away and be angry. Anger is my default setting..Is anything worth that?

How do you know if your feelings are warranted, or if you’re just being pathetic, feeling sorry for yourself?

Is it possible, in a quest to find yourself and happiness, to parasitically squeeze the life out of everything that you once loved? Until those cherished fixations become hated addictions? Or just simply hated?
How long can you continue on in such a form? And when you finally fall and come to a merciful respite in your life, will anyone understand? Or will they simply look upon you with the judging eyes of pity? Or disdain?

How do you pick yourself back up? Peel yourself off the pavement, mend the brokenness, and discover a different direction worthy of your tears and toil.

But this direction wouldn’t steal the being from you or selfishly suck the life from your grasps. It wouldn’t only be tears, and work, and perseverance; it would also be gratifying to the life you devote to it.
When do I get to do this? Why not now?