breaking

I’m broken. I’m unsure if I can really be fixed. I’m hurt and broken and miserable by the day. I’m the rot that I created of myself, made of broken bits of my rotten pathetic self. All there is, is constant hurting. A constant hell. And what if, say, it never stops? Because I’m starting to believe, and becoming terrified of, this being truly neverending. I’m never going to get out of my head. Away from these thoughts. And I read so many things from people saying the same, it doesnt ever really stop. It just pretends to for awhile. Then you’re stuck waiting for it to come back. What a miserable fucking life.

Speaking of that, look at the state of the world we’re in now. A whole pile of rot itself, the damn world. Where we’re expected to live and see it all through. But why? Why must we suffer for the sake of the higher ups, or the gods, or whoever the hell makes this so? The ones who left everyone down here to drown in this hellish agony. Left me. I never asked for any of this. Life is miserable, but I guess they like it that way, for whatever sick, twisted fucked up reason it may be.

I try to pick up the broken bits of myself back up before I’m destroyed entirely. By my own mind. By this world. What’s the point anyway to pick myself up? Nobody really cares. It certainly feels that way, anyway. And who’s to say I dont deserve that. Am I not the pathetic rot I’ve said I am time and time again, or am I delusional? I feel alone in this world. Both this one and the one I created in my rotten brain. I just want out. I want to breathe without feeling so heavy. I want to feel the air on my face without pain. I want to wake up from a genuinely refreshed sleep ready to go about my good (or at least fair, leaning on good) day.

But it wont happen. I’m just stuck here. I guess I could get drugged off my ass but I doubt I’ll be able to afford that any time soon. Either way I’m losing myself. I dont understand why I cling to that so much, when there wasnt anything worth a damn in myself anyway. Holding on to this false hope that I matter. A false hope that I’m actually loved and deserve to be. A false hope that I can get better and I’m not as bad as my head makes me out to be, and that I can keep continuing to be a good person. False hopes. Neverending false hopes. I’ve dealt with so many lies before.

I dont want my grandparents to hear me crying. I couldnt ever tell them anything anyway. They wouldnt really understand (religious reasons..) and if they told my dad that would just make everything worse. My mom really doesnt want to hear any of it, ever. I don’t know who to turn to right now. I fucking hate life. I hate myself. I hate feelings and I hate being in constant pain all the time, searching and searching for distractions and anything to get away from myself and from these thoughts for just awhile.

There is no hope. This is all meaningless. I live for nothing and I’ll die for nothing as well. Holding on to some belief that I’m wanted or needed. But I’m not. It doesnt seem so, anyhow. I’m a miserable wretch. I don’t have a vocabulary big enough to describe the pain I am in right now. This is all probably for the best anyway. This end. If it wont end in life it will end in death.