"Every day is like a lifetime of dying slowly."

Where are my fucked-up adventures? Why do I feel like my childhood is still incomplete? My life wasn't the revolving door of friends that I'm sure others experienced, but it's been years since I've seen anyone that I knew before Seventh Grade, except, of course, my family. Why do I feel so lost and helpless? And why is it that when happiness does come my way, the people who should be cheering for me try to destroy it?