Writing

It is now 4:51am and I've given up on trying to sleep.
Writing has always been the only outlet I've ever known for expressing what I feel; doing it sometimes in a funny way, like I do on my other blog, is a mild outlet, which sometimes makes my anxiety calm down. Tonight I have nothing witty or humorous to write about, so I turn to the slightly darker side of writing and it brings me here.
What worries me tonight is a mixture of many things, fear, slight signs of depression and just plain not knowing what else to do with myself at the moment. To the people that know me a bit better, it is not an unknown fact that depression was a part of my life for a short period of time and the fear of falling into that same state is always in the back of my mind.
Lately, I've realized that I have become way too cynical to enjoy small things that used to bring some joy out of me. My sister and I, for example, used to be so close we'd automatically laugh at the same things and know what would make each other laugh and were also confident that whatever joke one would come up with, the other one would surely laugh at. Nowadays, my sister tells me and shows me things that would've been funny to me at some point in my life, but now, can get nothing out of me but pity laughs; on the other hand, I know that many of the things that make me laugh today are too much of a foreign concept for her to understand, so I don't even try.
I seem to have lost the ability to enjoy some simple things, and as stupid as it sounds, it scares me. Have I become so cynical, and so unimpressed by life that I may have lost the bond between the person who was once the only person who could truly understand me in the world and myself? Or perhaps we were always meant to grow apart? I think the latter scares me the most.
I see pictures and hear stories of how people back in my hometown have fun and I almost feel sad that this is what they consider fun, what they consider success, and what they consider worthy of somebody feeling jealous of; I seem to forget that everybody only knows what they know and that at a certain age, we sort of...settle.
My life seems to be going in a very good direction, but it feels like it's going nowhere at the same time. I feel like I've worked hard to reach goals in life, but it feels like I'm always one step behind; I know I can't be the only one feeling this way, yet I wonder what everybody else does to hide it so well. Perhaps everybody else, like me, feels like our worries should be nobody else's but our own and just bottle them in.
Has Jersey and its dry, angry, cynical environment finally gotten the best of me?
Has it finally made me so self-centered that I can be up at 5am and believe that somebody will be genuinely interested in reading this?
See, now that's funny.