I told a girl how I felt about her recently. She just said we were friends. I probably should have seen that coming. I’m not quite sure why I thought it would be anything other than that. I’m not sure why I’m writing this down. She knows that I’m on here. I doubt she ever comes around here anymore. I’ve said too many weird things. Sometimes I regret telling her. I’m not sure why I did it in the first place. It was impulsive telling her about this place. I just did it like I needed to share this uncomfortable part of my psyche with someone. I think that was a mistake. Trying to let anyone in like that. I feel like a tick. A parasite. Something that latches on because I don’t know any other way to have friends. Sometimes I feel that my psychotic obsession with her has to do with me telling her about this place. Like letting her in made it so I can’t just let it go anymore. What a horrible horrible mistake I made. I should have just let her go without any issue. Never talked to her. I should have never ever ever said anything. I am angry at myself. I am angry at who I am. I often wonder why I feel the need to want anything. I shouldn’t want anything. Writing all this down makes me sound psychotic. Or maybe pathetic. Or maybe dramatic. This is the only way I know how to cope though. Keeping it all in my head is no good, but writing it all down is not good either. I think she thinks I’m nuts. I mean think about it. How can anyone find someone who writes down this rambling nonsense attractive, let alone stable? I feel like the only reason I’m writing this is to make it worse. Like when you feel “well I’m here now. I wonder how bad I can make it.” I don’t know. I like rambling. I like being nonsensical. Otherwise, why would I do it?
Why am I me? I’m not sure what my purpose is. I’m not sure where I’m going or what I am supposed to be. I feel like killing myself not out of sadness or desperation, but because it just feels like the right course of action. Like without any purpose or meaning, that living is just too uncomfortable and strained. I try to find purpose in career and education. I try to find purpose in friends. I try to find purpose in relationships that I know nothing of. I am tired.