I am a fantasist. I’m massively emotionally invested in things that are impossible in reality. Which generates endless despair. But I don’t know how to stop wanting what I want. Some things just feel essential.
My fantasies are also terrible. The sickest, most deplorable things you could imagine. And yet they also feel wonderful and great. So that’s a massive headfuck. Huge amounts of shame, guilt, fear, and self-hatred. But it also feels amazing.
So that holds me back from pursuing anything real. I can’t let anyone else see the sickness inside me. And I can’t give it up. I can’t contaminate others.
So my life has no meaning. I want the pain to stop, but it’s not strong enough yet to overcome fear of death. I want someone – I don’t want to be alone anymore. But I can’t – I don’t deserve to be with anyone. I can’t pretend I’m worthy of being with anyone. I have nothing to offer anyone. No one could see the sickness in me and not be disgusted.
My life is pointless. Just try and prepare for when things get bad enough, then kill myself. That’s it. No ambitions, no realistic hopes. Just sick fucking fantasies, and sad delusions, and shame, regret, fear, self-hatred.
Still, maybe if I tell myself this often enough something will shift in my brain. I’m so, so tired of being this.