just because telling everything would take a novel...

I have a summary of my miserable (sickly miserable) last week and a half nearly typed up, but I just have to say this:

When most people try to comfort me, or say good things about me I feel extremely uncomfortable and I don't really believe them. I just can't help but feel that they're lying if they don't try to tell me what I've done wrong to get there, and what I need to fix.

I'm so unhealthy, I want people feel I'm a disappointment to them before I'll even consider the fact that they might love, or even like me.

My mother has severely warped my reactions to almost everyone/thing.

(I'm not actually upset or anything, this is more of a general statement that I am alarmingly resigned to)