Monday, March 23

Waiting For These Feelings To Pass...

The worst feeling is being hopeless and lost. I'll try to be happy, though. People don't like me when I’m unhappy. And by ‘people’ I mean my friends, most of the time. Which sucks. Because all I want to do is stay in bed and cry.

It’s okay. Painted smiles eventually become real ones and we all move past these moments as though they’ve made us stronger somehow.

I want to scream bullshit at myself, but I don’t have the energy to do it.

Dear friend, I want to die. Sorry for my lack of subtlety.

I am useless. I am worthless. I am talentless. I am hideous. Inside and out. I have nothing to offer the world. I am not a contributing member of my society, of my family, of my social circle. I serve no purpose, have no higher calling, believe in nothing. Nihilsm. Complete and utter nihilsim.

I was afraid of what would happen to me once I crossed this threshold. There is nothing. I am nothing. Yet you seem to be everything to me at the moment. Which makes me sick, because I want my life to be more.

Dear friend, I can’t do this anymore. I hate being alone. I hate being alone. I hate being alone.

I wish someone would hug me and tell me everything is going to be alright. I wish someone would let me weep with them, if only for a moment. I wish someone would let me be vulnerable without feeling stupid. I wish someone, anyone would be honest with me.

I often fantasize about gutting myself open like a fish. Or drowning in a bowl of soup. Or overdosing on some of my mother’s sleeping pills. I like to think that I really have nothing to lose. My mother hates me, my father is always disappointed in me, my brother would be happy to see me dead, my sister wouldn’t care either way, my best friends merely tolerate my bullshit and are better off without me always bringing them down, my academics mean nothing, my future is nonexistent, and I hate myself.

It seems like a plausible solution.

Just get it over with, dammit. Just do it already.

Even Jeremy wants me to kill myself at the expense of his own existence.

But every time I actually go to do it, I think that maybe God cares a little of what I’m doing with this body of his. Maybe he would mind if offed myself. And what if there really is a hell? I don’t want to get myself there any faster.

Because I know that’s the end, right there. An eternity of damnation belongs to me.


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