Something is seriously wrong with me.
I always knew that. Even as a kid, I knew I was fucked in the head. With no other way of explaining it, I deduced that I was actually a demon. I know that’s not the case now. I’m just broken. No, broken would imply that I was able to process the world properly at one point. I’m not broken. I’m dysfunctional. A misshapen gear unable to mesh with the other cogs in the works.
Most people are driven to work towards their goals, to make their mark in the world, to fight for what they believe is right. I don’t. Activism upsets me, change terrifies me, and my ideals are there one day and gone the next. Nothing I am is set in stone. I’m too easily swayed, too quickly convinced I’m in the wrong. At this point, what is right or wrong anymore? Who dictates it? God, society, psychology? Maybe, maybe, and maybe. My brain wraps around concepts and unravels at counterpoints, to the point where I legitimately don’t believe anything anymore. I’m eternally passive towards politics and things of the like. After all, my opinions are dust in the wind, flying out of sight the second they reach the open air.
It’s come to the point where I’m bitter towards those with set goal, set morals, set aspirations. But even more so, I’m bitter towards myself. I don’t feel as though I belong with anyone who I’m dictated to side with. Not with women, not with people of my race, not with Christians, not with the LGBT community. It’s all so rigid, and yet eternally moving at a breakneck pace. Like a freight train. If I stand in the way, I’ll be run over on the tracks.
I want to be dead. Because as of right now, death is my only constant aspiration. Why stay? I hate myself, and if I have to reside on this earth of constant noise any longer, I’ll soon grow to hate everyone else.