It's that part of you that clouds everything you see due to its expectations. If it ain't sunny, like Steve Reich's record, "It's Gonna Rain" over and over again. You gotta stop that tape loop.
It's so odd how you'll be so happy with things, and the next moment you are in a depressed state. You can't seem to rationalize things in either state- it plays into your idea of the lack of absolute truth or objective anything. You always say that. There has to be some sort of constant, but there's not with you. You'll be happy, and every door is open, and within those doors you see corridors with millions of doors, and in those halls there are lots of people all smiling at you. They are happy. When you are sad, there are two doors: the future and the past. You are in a tiny, dark hallway alone. If you think of people you know, it's as if you had died and were remembering how things were when you were alive. Then, you think of real death. You see the cars on the street as the hallway becomes transparent, and you want one of them to come crashing into you. You see a person walking behind you, and as you look at the sidewalk- as things all become props on the movie set of your life and incipient death- as trash blows past and away from you in the cold wind, you want that shadow behind you to blow your blood all over that sidewalk, and you see it happen.
But, you still have the doors. The future is closed: there is no point in opening it because nothing there will make you happy. Everything seems pointless. Your art, your loves, your dreams, your life seems so petty. You are nothing, alone in a tiny space, trapped. You turn to the other door and the hallway walls become opaque with memory- your internal dimension has enveloped you. Inside of that door is what you think will make you happy. In fact, a lot of it can. You can think of what you had. You can see your friends at home, see old loves and remember how things were. You can even go through that door but, by the time you walk inside, things will have changed. The door is an illusion: the past is memory and, although sometimes you feel you can enter it, it is unreal, a painting of viscera. It is everything that composed you- it is you. But, as you are in this state, you are separate from it. You are separate from the future, separate from yourself, and placed in this hallway to look at what you have had, what you have, and what you can have.
It is not until you learn how to get out of this space that all these things become clear. You can get out, and you have, but you have escaped each time. Each subsequent time you are encapsulated in that hallway, it becomes smaller and smaller, crushing you. You become more alone, more upset. Why? Cause you've been there before and you didn't face it. You need to face that space and learn how to expand it, see the doors in the walls that you are blind to because of your emotions. You need to break those walls and learn the lesson that keeps coming back around to slap you in the face. Most importantly, you can not allow yourself to be so malleable. No- you cannot allow everything outside of yourself to be so malleable to how you feel. The world is colorless glass, an enormous transparent structure. It is you who imbues it with hues and molds it through color to how you feel. This is done unconsciously, but can and should be done consciously as well. Once you realize you can do this, you can choose different color slides to shine on this structure, or at least know which ones not to use and which ones are better. Or, get used to some colors and see through them, rendering the colors themselves invisible and the world as opaque as the colors once were.
You spend too much time alone. You are lonely. You also need to stop bringing [omitted] into the picture- she has nothing to do with you right now. She won't have anything to do with you in the future. She is in the past, a brush stroke on that painting you keep looking at when you are afraid to look forward, the painting you think you can enter again. No, you can't. The painting has captured shapes and colors you have seen before and, although you might see similar shapes you can now alter through your spectrum, you can not change the past- you can't change that picture. It is already hanging in front of you, yet you keep wanting to paint. If you paint over it, you see each coat through the last if you look hard enough. Or, you can see it without trying. Sometimes, it wants to be seen. It's all ongoing. Don't dwell on what is behind you and what you think will be the same. It is ever changing.
I need to stop writing.
You need to see a psychologist.