back again, don’t know why

well, it’s cause I have nowhere else to go; nothing else I want to do besides wallow in misery.

Or misanthropy. Misanthropy in me is more real than I ever thought. I could have sworn that I started having delusions and psychological disorders of my own accord, because I was bored and needed something to think about. I really do dislike people though. Not because I think they’re evil or destroying the world or anything, they’re just not my cup of tea.

People live through their mouths, always talking, always consuming; don’t they get tired? I’ve been tired going on 4 years now.

Or 3 years. I know it’s been 3 years since I had a girlfriend and I’ve got one foot in the door on a new relationship, but I don’t see the point of putting my whole ass into it. All I want to do is die. I don’t enjoy the simple act of being, of being this living breathing organism.

Sure. I could go to the docs and get fitted with a rainbow assortment of pills to get me righted again; settle my mind, untangle my stomach, and let me just live. But then what? I won’t be alive anymore. I won’t dislike every living/non-living thing around me so I won’t be me exactly. I’ll be programmed to appreciate and love the world and its’ inhabitants. I’ve gotten caught up in that ignorant euphoria on other drugs so I think I know what I’m talking about.

My mindset is such that I don’t want to be, simply because every waking moment feels like a waste of time and energy. I don’t care about what’s going on around me, around the world; the most I seem able to do is get inebriated and help my brother with his homework (when I’m not overly tipsy).

I just don’t care because I don’t believe there is a reason to care. I feel nothing, no hope for anything. I can do so much and play the game of life to the end but I don’t enjoy it. I don’t like what’s going on and the way people play and the rewards.

So if I take drugs, they will allow me to change seats from this round table and take on a new, happier, perspective. I, now, will cease to exist. I will be me, then, in the future.

It just feels so unnatural taking drugs just to feel like I want to be here. I can have life success but I don’t want it; all of it, life and living feels valueless. I’m not nearly as attached to my body and existing as everyone around me.

I tried to think of a way to treat myself after work if I could make it through the day without getting overly negative. I tried to think of something that I’ve wanted to have but never acquired because it cost too much or I was worried about the consequences etc. NOTHING came to mind. I have no earthly desires, none.

The reward I settled on was a bottle of tequila and narcotics to get me twisted up so one of my more likeable personalitites comes out. There’s not much left for me here.

I do have hope. We all have hope or else we would have sought out ways to kill ourselves by now. What I don’t have is any desire to try, to do, to move, to make any effort to get myself out of this. Climb out of the hole but the steps are barbed and on fire.

I don’t even want anything from the world, from people. So what’s the point of me being then? I don’t want to help anymore. I’m just here looking at what’s going on; can’t change the channel.