I’m so unbelievably sick and fucking tired of this feeling. I can’t do anything right, I have no faith in myself. The world we live in is a hard fucking place, but it wouldn’t be so bad if I could just believe in myself. Confidence is a rare commodity, and without it I give up. How many times do I have to fuck up and hate myself over it? Why can’t I just realize that I’ll continue to ruin everything I have. No matter the percentage put in my shoulders, a problem radiates to the surface. I’m sick of crying because I can’t do anything. Getting motivated to try to do something. Failing to even come close to achievement. Then feeling like garbage enough that night to cry again. Like what’s the fucking point? These experiences mean nothing to me.
Sure, if I had friends or acquaintances to share them with so we could both grow it wouldn’t be that bad. But I realize I’m stuck in a fucking vortex of having to reach out to my “friends”. That if I don’t initiate the conversation, it’ll never happen. People think I’m popular and that I have plenty of friends, but who the fuck cares when they don’t want to talk to you? I throw my money around to try and create happiness for myself and others. It just deteriorates me to a worse place, because then I realize I’m working for nothing. I try to hurt myself but I’m too scared I’ll fuck that up too. That’s something I know I couldn’t live with. I have fake happiness, because I realize it’s temporary relief from the darkness. You can run, you can hide and you sure as hell can act. Sooner or later, what’s the honest to god point. It’ll shadow us all to our last breath, sooner or later. It’s just a game of who can put run it longer.