crabs don’t give birth to birds

i’m intensely embarrassed that i don’t know how to kill myself, even after so much searching on the internet, if i told someone i’d turn red from the shame. kids have accidentally strangled themselves to death with only their hands for a stupid challenge. this must mean that i’m not motivated enough to attempt, i’m relatively fine if i don’t think about it. another thing i’m trying to ignore. it’s been 6 years since i’ve shared happiness with people, laughed genuinely with someone i could call a friend. i really need to die before i go insane and maybe hurt someone. it’s my worst nightmare, to turn into a monster, to be considered too disgusting to help.

my mum is really pushing the idea of buying a flat, i don’t see the point. she said i can buy another property every 5 years or so, i’ve never had a real job and i’m unemployed. i’m laughing so hard in my head and she can’t know it. lately i’ve read about a few women (disabled/mentally ill) who have died in their flats and lay there for years until finally their smell was investigated. they were checked on only when their rotting flesh became too much of a disturbance. this is what it means to be truly alone. i just know that will be me, i wonder if that’s a better way to die? because i think if i died outside or in my car then i will be found quickly. maybe i need the alone time before i become ashes, sounds nice. i know mum wants me to go, i think she was hoping i’d be in uni at my age; it makes me think about how horrible school is and how i easily crumble from expectations. i’ve let my social anxiety get too bad though, resilience doesn’t exist.

i felt my heart being pulled to the tv, watching fireworks go off at the london eye and the crowd underneath it, holding hands and jumping. i really want to celebrate something and truthfully. last night i drank alone with my dog on the sofa. didn’t wish anyone a happy new year.

I’ve volunteered at the animal sanctuary twice now. it was extremely awkward the first time, so much that i left the break room because i thought i was responsible for the silence, and cried quickly next to the guinea pigs before going back to walk dogs. typing it is making me tear up, no one asked why i left, that’s ok. i’m glad that no one has looked at me weird, often when i go out people will look at me like they’re slightly disturbed,  that’s not the case here. i think you do have to be a little weird to be working in animal rescue, it’s not a pretty job. i was dangerously close to falling on my bum in the mud while playing with a dog, luckily i gained balance, had a laugh about it with another volunteer. but if i did i would probably never come back, thank god. second day i felt better about speaking but i still talk mundanely because i’m scared of messing up, i’m terrified of talking about aspirations and future plans, there’s nothing. a dog headbutted me hard in the nose, bastard. he’s sweet though. this is a nicer way of being around people, at least i’m not shut in. i’d like to do more days with different duties. i’d hate to give this up for work.