i don’t understand.
i know that i’m myself, but something feels wrong. i have to keep doing things to keep myself together, i don’t feel myself. either i’m going insane, or i’m just trying to play the victim again, i fucking hate this, every part of it, every part of me. unintentionally i’ve created so many sides for different people, platform and situations, that they are unable to merge into one. i can’t clearly describe it anymore, if i stop distracting myself for a second i’ll fall into a loop of confusion. something is wrong, i can’t explain what. i feel like i’m transparent, outside of my own body, but alive, just simply perceiving reality is feeling strange.
it’s like everything around me is getting more and more real, or i’m disappearing. i’m out of the previous depressive episode, when that hit, i could describe exactly what i’m thinking, but this time it’s different. i know that i’m myself, i feel myself, but i don’t think i’m myself. i don’t know if feeling something physically is going to help. i thought staying at home was fine, but more and more i feel detached from everything, even my own body. school, or at least being with other people helped to ground me down, at least then i knew that i was real. i usually feel this at night, 11pm to 7am, i guess it might just be my body fucking with me, telling me to go to sleep in it’s own way, who knows. i don’t know what’s wrong with me and i’ve never talked to anyone, which is a good thing, a few days ago i felt especially lonely, but now i can’t even feel lonely anymore, it might just be another one of those numb phase, shut up, shut up nobody cares nobody asked.
i don’t want to hear myself, i don’t want to see the things i’ve created, i don’t want to be here.
depicted by websites, depression or other mental illness sometimes “help” to spark an artist’s creativity, but the past 3 or so years everything’s drained out of me. i used to have so many ideas flowing inside my head, i can’t even fucking create anything anymore, all i want to is to cross out the things i draw and delete the things i write. i don”t know, i don’t know, i don’t know why i am going off on this.
everything feels like a dream. the past, the present, the emotions.
the cord on this lamp is really well made.
i thought strangling would help, i recognize my head, i recognize the song that’s playing, but something’s wrong. i want to die, i want to die, i want to die.
i guess i don’t have the energy for tonight, it didn’t hurt, it didn’t feel like anything, the first few times i strangled myself it felt relieving, i don’t know, i can’t handle this anymore, i’d rather feel something negative, anything, make me feel alive again. i want out, i can’t do this anymore. i don’t know who i am, it’s scary, i can’t even love anything anymore, the passion i once had, i’ve said this already, for so many times, the love, the heavy tears, they’re fading away, it’s just the eggshell walls colliding closer and closer, i want to actually like something i do for once, i want to find a part of myself that i don’t want to change” i, i, i,” all i think about is myself, i need to stop, everything needs to stop, i want to lay down and sleep for 3 days straight, i want to wake up near someone, just to be looked at, just to know that i’m still here, just to know that i’m alive, just to be loved. it’s so ridiculous and selfish, i don’t know if what the others think like, the people who aren’t like this, just take my everything away already. i don’t know what happened to fuck me up this bad. time is passing by extremely quick, i don’t know what to do.
a part of me is forever stuck in the past, another shattered in the winter of 2018, nothing has been going on, so why am i still like this?
what am i writing