i don’t really come here for help anymore, so please ignore me; i just wanted a place to ramble.
i never in my wildest dreams thought i would make it to eighteen- not once, even at my most optimistic, did i seriously consider the possibility that i’d still be here today… but i am here.
i don’t really know how i feel about that.
it’s almost kind of laughable, you know? like a bad joke or a fucked up riddle, what’s still there but not, what should be gone that isn’t, what do you call a ghost that’s still alive– and it’s me.
it’d be nice to say hey, at least i don’t want to die now amiright? but that’s basically a blatant lie, because, as i said earlier, here i am.
i’m still here, so of course i still want to change that.
yeah, i’m not actually sure of what i’m doing right now.
maybe i’m throwing in the towel for real this time, maybe i’m just back on here because it’s late and i’m tired and i have no one to distract me- who fucking knows.
not me. i never fucking know.
i’m lost and exhausted and god, what do you do when you’re supposed to be dead?
everything? nothing? laugh, cry, celebrate, plan the funeral, what?
can’t just go back to living. i never had a life in the first place, there’s nothing i want to go back to, so then what?
die? after all this shit i’ve put up with?
but what else is there?
i’m not just going to fucking sit here, i didn’t avoid a coffin just to end up rotting anyway, but what the hell else am i supposed to do?
i don’t have a plan, i’ve got no goddamn clue what i want to be doing for the rest of the time i’m stuck here; i never gave any time to planning for shit i’d never see.
lemme tell you guys, surviving is kind of bullshit. even if you think you’ve got this dream life laid together, this pretty picture of what you’d want if anything mattered at all, it crumbles once you get both feet out of the grave.
you start thinking about actually living that life and boom, guess what? it’s nothing, it’s worse than nothing, it’s a scripted answer, a prompted response, just empty, idle imaginings; what kind of future can be built out of sunshine pulled out of your ass, after all?
i just wanted something passable that i could throw out there when someone asked me what i wanted to do with my life, you know? something that i could spout out before end it found its way through my teeth and got me into a bind- not a real option, not anything i could truly want.
i don’t want anything.
i want everything, i want to go to sleep and never wake up.
i want to be done with this already.
but the future?
oh, god, i’m going to get eaten alive; there be monsters waiting at those unfamiliar horizons, i know it, because i don’t get to go anywhere that won’t cause me a ridiculous amount of pain.
i should’ve just killed myself last year.
my head is falling apart again and i have no more time, i’m at that point, i’m fucking old and a child all at once and i cannot afford this breakdown when i have so much shit to do if i want to keep on keeping on.
which i don’t, incidentally, but i’m capable of it now so i guess i will.
whatever, whatthefuckever, i don’t care.
if i die at least i can say i made it this far.
i don’t think i’ll be coming back here again. goodnight.