I saw a play and a character said that he was destined to never feel at home.

I hate how I get crazy whenever anything goes the opposite way as it's supposed. After nineteen years you'd figure I'd grow to deal with it. I wish I didn't need to use drugs and alcohol to cover up the pain of hopelessness. I wish I could finally find myself and be happy for real. Maybe I'm just destined to die alone and miserable.