I feel as if I’ve always had too many expectations. Of people, of myself, of everyone around me. Even of how life was suppose to play out. When I was little I expected people to be my friend. I expect people to put me first. When I was older I expected to look better. I expected people to be attracted to me. I expect to fit in. I expected to have the experience everyone else had. When I starved myself or cut myself I expected it to make me feel better. When I cried out to people in my way of pain I expected them to care. To reach out. When I got into a relationship I expected ultimate romance. To have my partner be so madly in love with me all I had to do was look at them to know. I expected one day to have a proposal I could brag about when I’m 80. I big wedding with happy family that go along. Then a honeymoon you see in the movies. I wanted love notes and bubble baths. Breakfast in bed and flowers. I wanted things to be normal even after kids. To never question anything. I want a perfect body and life but I don’t have any energy to work toward it. I’ve never had the energy to work for anything. Now that I have kids all I want is for them to have all the things I expected. Yet, as the person I am I don’t think I could give them that. How can I hate everything about myself and be as lazy as I am and give them a great life that they themselves won’t also mentally suffer from? They say if I have less expectations of people, or myself, or life that I’d be happier but all these “expectations” are what I see everyone else with and me without.