My grandmother lived into her 90's. Admittedly the last few years of her life were quiet and sad, spent sitting in a home. But those first 85 years she was healthy and active. I think about that sometimes when I think I am getting old. I am 27. Yes- my mother had two kids by now. Yes- many of my friends are married and having babies. Yes- I am just getted started on a questionable career path that could potentially lead me nowhere. But I am not yet old.

That said. My age is not the point of this blog. I organized, wrote and performed in a really exciting show the other night. I had a high I had not had in a long time. Followed by a long night of merriment it was (although a strange day) a good one. But I woke up the next morning not feeling so happy. I woke up feeling the opposite of happy, which is, I guess, sad. I woke up so sad. I woke up missing everything I had ever lost in my life. And all day I went over the list again and again. Missing everything from friends and lovers, to experiences, youth and hope...everything including the night before. Which as wonderful as it was, I could never have back. And I missed it.

And after a extended day of lingering in my own melancholy I realized that this feeling. This overwhelming, upsetting feeling could only get worse. The longer life is- the more things you leave behind- the more things you watch come and go. The more sadness you endure. Of course their is the other side of that. The more happy moments, the more exciting adventures, the more experiences....but those are things I am mourning the most. I miss all the happiness I ever had. Even in moments when I am perfectly happy.

Diagnose that.