life and living, for me, is an outfit. you put on all these clothes that weigh you down but eventually, end of the day comes; time to strip ’em off and rest.
I’m afraid that I’m genuinely losing my mind. That analogy, if you can call it that, is a half finished thought. So many of my thoughts are half finished and incoherant; I’M half finished and incoherant HAHAHA! self loathing is always hilarious.
I try to wear my life for as long as possible, but I always end up stripping it off and proclaiming myself animal.
What am I saying? WHat am I writing? How is any of this even possible? I type these symbols and you know what I’m saying; words represent reality.. but nothing I say holds any weight in the real world.
WHat does that even mean? They say that the why is not important, but that you should just enjoy the ride.
JUst live your life and enjoy yourself; don’t worry about the games that we play. DO what you truly enjoy. BUT, there’s nothing. Nothing satisfies me.
I put the charade that things are copacetic but by golly they aren’t, and I don’t know what it would take to right things.
My body feels like trash most of the time. My mind is worn out and constipated. My brain gets it but doesn’t “get it”. Am I being crazy for the sake of being crazy?
I just want to die. I have nothing and no one. It’s not possible for me to possess anything. I’m just an animal. I have no sense of ownership. I’ve had this feeling for several months, like I want to tear myself apart like a piece of offensive paper.
Why can I word so well when I’m so unwilling? The two are unrelated but.. and no ones going to have anything to say to this. I’m so fucking alone.. so so so alone. i feel like the walls are closing in and soon it’ll be smoosh! ill just be a pasty stain.
bone and muk. I wish I were an artists. I can write these symbols, this english language; I understand it. I get it. I don’t get anything else though. I know how to act; I don’t know how to be. I can create multitudes of personalitites, store ’em all in my brain, but what good do they do? none of it feels real, and again, no one can hear me. I’m all alone because I place myself alone, and away.
I have no respect for humans. My god, self hating to the max. rant rant rant. rant rant.
I wish someone… argg, i don’t want validation, my body does. SO I do. I am my body, it wants acceptance. while rejecting. acceptance while rejecting. accept me while I reject you. I’m beyond help because I put myself there. Truth is I don’t want to be saved and live in this world.
It’s so illogical and uninteresting. every moment feels like a waste, like, like like, as a human, I’m just incapable of using time correctly. it feels like I had the knowledge once, that I knew what time was for, and using it for anything less feels atrocious. I feel atrocious. I feel self destructive. I don’t understand but what don’t I understand. why am I so discontent? I feel sick, like a virus is within me. What good are my words if they’re so vile? why would anyone read them. listen to them. i hate myself so the world hates me. i need a clue before i spontaneously combust.
what can i do, that i enjoy, that society will deem acceptable? i feel like smashing this keyboard in half across my face. why can i type and make so much sense with my fingers, but nothing else works? unrelated.
I hate looking at these words that I’ve typed and knowing that they aren’t going anywhere. what a fucking waste.
im the wastegawd