I hate what I am. What I let myself become. But I suppose a part of me also loves it. Otherwise I wouldn’t still be clinging on.
There’s so many things you can do in life, so many things you can be. And I chose this. Maybe not consciously. But still.
Pretty much my entire adulthood, I haven’t really been trying to live. I’ve been too busy running from myself.
Because for all that time, it’s been clear. No matter what I do from this point on, I’ll always be a piece of shit.
So why bother? Why try? Why take care of your health and your body? Why learn new skills or try to build relationships? Why have any respect for yourself, if you know no one else would? Why try to better yourself, if you’ll never be worth anything? If you’ll always be alone with what you’ve done, and what you are.
I’m so sick of this. It’s such a waste of life. But I can’t be anything else. I can’t be anyone else. I can’t delete this messed up shit from my mind. I can’t forget. I can’t let go.