Keep scrolling, people.
I am so empty and so full. The layer of oil I’ve worked so hard to build up in order to repel the watery drops of pain and heartache has been penetrated. I am now vulnerable. I feel sick. My brain is so full of voices, my own voices, telling me how terrible I am, how I don’t deserve to be loved. Every time I date someone, I am either their gateway to the one they really want, or I’m too much. I can’t deal with anything anymore, I’m tired. The only thing keeping me from ending my own life is the fear that Hell might be waiting for me with the anguish of 10,000 heartaches as my punishment. People would miss me, but they’d move on, and quickly. Everything is fast now, thanks to the impatient nature of our generation. My family would be scarred, but they don’t know how to help me. I don’t know how to help me, my “art” is poor, no matter how much emotion I put into it. I am so wretchedly average in every way. I don’t know why I’m alive, people like me are a waste of resources. I guess that’s the cruel and beautiful joke of life on earth, that molecules can’t be stopped from developing into something worthless. I just don’t care about anything anymore, nothing excites me. I don’t even care about sex anymore, what’s the point? No point. Eat, sleep, fuck, die. How perfectly abysmal. I feel like digging myself into a tunnel underground…… I don’t know what I’d do after I’d completed the tunnel, I just know I want to do it. My romantic life is just a perpetual back-and-forth between he wants me, I don’t want him, I love him, he tries to date me and then moves on to someone sunnier. I can’t imagine myself in 10 years. The thought of having to struggle through life for 10 more years is nauseating, I have no direction. I’m stuck here, I’ll never leave. All I do is cry and stare into space. When I’m working (for almost no money at all, for my mother who, bless her soul, hates where she’s ended up), I need to be under the influence of Ritalin so I don’t have to think about anything but what I’m supposed to be doing. After some heavy thinking, as usual, I realized that I really cared a lot about my ex. Also as usual, he didn’t really care about me. No one wants to take the time or energy to figure me out. I don’t care. I’m too much anyway, I wouldn’t want to deal with me. Hell, I don’t want to deal with BEING me! I don’t really sleep anymore, which is ironic, because all I want to do is sleep. I won’t be happy again, in any aspect of my life. I’m floating, sailing, drifting, diffusing, gliding, and falling slowly through life, I’m not living. This isn’t life. I have nothing, and no one can convince me otherwise. Having friends is nice, but everyone only cares about themselves when it all boils down, and that’s fine. I have such a desire to run, to escape. I need it, I need a change of scenery. Literally, a change of scenery, I want to see mountains and the Pacific Ocean, I want to meet people like myself, people who just want to lay around on a blanket outside all day. Wow, how many of these stupid fucking entries have I written like this? I really do suck.