mr robotic

I’m not so sure anything is wrong with me other than my almost complete disconnect from other walking/talking human beings. I go to work everyday and spend the weekends with my younger brother, mentoring him and just giving him my time. That’s all I do though.

I practically run home after work and shut myself away until I slip into a drug induced haze. I just can’t be who I was anymore, that support character that everyone seems to love so much. Giving my thoughts, insight, advice etc. I only seem to exist to help, I’m a bastard after all. I don’t have any grand purpose, conceived behind the bleachers more or less.

I can work and be supportive but I don’t feel anything for these people but resentment. They (family, friends) come to me seeking a savior for everything from stubbed toes to broken hearts to deaths in the family. Why should I help them anymore when I’m so overcome by misanthropy and nihilism? They can’t help me at all with my issues. I’ve long since stopped bringing them to peoples attention as they only seemed to listen for the entertainment factor. I know the feeling afterall; some of the only enjoyment I get out of my day to day life is hearing about the shitty times that other people are having. I seem to have become psychophagic, feeding off of other people’s misery.

I feel dirty inside when everyone around me is down in the dumps but I’m on top of the world/cloud 9; I know the reason is not a positive one. I just can’t relate to people anymore, they all have such trivial issues. I can’t converse for more than a couple minutes without feeling some odd mix of manic emotions. I don’t talk, Iavoid familiar faces as much as possible, keep my phone off. I don’t want to share what’s going on in my life because I’m moving backwards into self destruction; I don’t want help. I don’t want to be and these aren’t ideas that “normal” people want to hear.

 It’s all I’ve got though. My negative feelings, sweaty palms, racing heart, stomach cramps and broken psyche are all I am. I stay alive because my brother needs me. He is who I was at that age and I don’t want him to grow into me, or somehow worse. It’s a duty I’ve taken on, but it’s not a reason to live. The finality of death frightens me as I don’t believe in any sort of afterparty, so there’s another reason why I haven’t done myself in. It saddens me sometimes to think about my funeral; it’s the only thing I’m really looking forward to but I won’t even be able to enjoy it because I’ll be gone. It makes me want to pull a Huck Finn and just let people think I’m dead so I can attend my own funeral in disguise or something.

It’s futile though. I can’t fully integrate into society because I’m so robotic, overly logical. I’ve smoked away my emotions because they never felt right, always too much or too little. I’m just a machine grinding away, working because my brother needs me to. Staying alive because I still have drugs that need doing. I know that I don’t matter, that there’s no grand scheme to things, that I should be free because I’m aware of the absurdity of life, but I’m not. I’m just scared and tired of all this. Scared of all the time I have left alone to bathe in my depression and tired of playing this wholly uninteresting game of Life.