My Poisonous Perspective, My Sick Mind.

I don’t know what I am supposed to be, or how I am supposed to act.
I try to be respectful, and obedient by following the rules.
And I know I am capable of being a great man.
I know I am capable of accomplishing great things.
Yet, the world hates me. Maybe ‘hate’ is a strong word.
A better way to put it would be that the world simply doesn’t care about me. I am meaningless, worthless, and undesirable; a flesh eating insect with intestines and blood, shedding my days under a fleeting sun and a cold wind, watching as life decays around me, like some old toy which used to fascinate.
I am utterly disenchanted with everything in my life.
Unsatisfied with reality, and resentful about my existence.
I resent the fact that I don’t understand the meaning of life, or what exactly happens when I die.
One cannot truly comprehend their fragility until first seeing how easily and barbarically life crushes another.
Stomps on them, so that their eyes pop out of their skull, and their brain flops over and hangs beside their chin.
Or as their mouth hangs open and their eyes go wide as they go stiff like a cat and fall over, their legs still kicking despite their death.
I feel miserable, and unhappy. To add to all of this weight, I am lonely.
I used to want friends, but everyone around me was stupid and immature. Girls didn’t take to me because I don’t act my age, and because I thought they were stupid.
They can spend all day gossiping or talking about someone on Instagram; pointless indulgences.
I watched pretty girls go for guys who were nothing like me. Watched as everyone else made friends and went on their stupid and pointless little adventures to the mall.
When I discovered there was no one like me, I became more depressed, and even more resentful. I wanted to believe in a world governed by rules. A world where things like chastity and marriage were respected and valued. Where people weren’t drunks, and life was fair. A world where everyone falls in love and has a happily ever after.
Foolishness. All of it a fools dream. I realized there was no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. There is no lasting satisfaction for anything, and time is cruel and unfair. Life gives and takes carelessly, and ignorant fools have it all.
I began to hate myself, and hate religion. I hate myself because I can’t be sociable and funny like all the guys the girls like. I can’t be the calm, collected, confident and clever man girls like. I think that it’s all so stupid and pointless. I think you can take your worthless little jokes, and stupid, damned charisma and ram yourself with it. Your nice clothes and clean shoes; your confidence and your haircut; all of it is worth trash.
And yet girls put all their value in the superficial.
I want to be special to one person. I want to have a chance to prove myself, and be a good boyfriend and potential husband and father. But how can I compete when I’m not even part of the competition?
Who do I have to become to get someone to love me?
Can I not just be myself?
If not, then it is not real love. But just some acting game where two people share resources.
But it hurts so badly. It hurts me so badly and makes me so sad and angry that I’m not good enough for any girl.
I workout and eat healthy and am honestly in great shape.
I honestly just can’t find any girl that I like enough to talk too. I see all these beautiful women with all their friends and boyfriends. I see them all living ‘normal’ lives, and I can’t help but feel like I’m on another planet.
I began to realize that no girl could understand me. I would just mess up any relationship I had with a girl anyways, right? Because while I’m here, she’s their in fairy tale land dreaming about the hottest guys in her class. And it hurts knowing I’m not even her type; I’m not even in the picture. I’m not anything she would ever fantasize about or want to kiss, but someone else is. It hurts so bad knowing I’m not wanted, and that this beautiful girl wants someone else.
I guess he’s better than me too, right?
They both are, and I am thrown in the trash.
This feeling gives rise to rage. I can be in the best mood, but when I start thinking about my life I quickly descend into madness. A sickness overtakes me, and I want to rip and tear; I want to shoot thousands of people mercilessly and watch women get raped in front of their fathers and children. I look down at these little children who simply grow up to be parasites just like the rest of us, eating and drinking and having sex. They will grow up to be normal, and just like everyone around me now, they will never understand me.
I see them and everyone else through a fish tank, and they become subhuman. I want to kidnap women and shove pikes up their whore vaginas and through their mouths. I want to strangle animals and shove them in blenders and ovens. I want to tie a women up and lock her in an oven and bake her at four fifty.
I want no one to escape my rage. I want the fire of my anger to ignite the world, and cast upon it a light of suffering and anguish.
I dream of being the only one alive, walking amongst the dead and rotting corpses. Except then I know the silence would overtake me, and God would not speak to me.
The wind would blow and the sun would set and rise.
The birds would sing and the seasons would come.
Everything would be completely meaningless. I would without a doubt hang myself and cry tears of despair and utter sadness as I jumped from the railing screaming into the face of death in terror.
And then the great nothing would overtake me, and I would cease.
I want so badly to believe in an afterlife. But I can’t. I just can’t. If only God would send me one sign to prove his existence. One where I would without a doubt know he was responsible. That way I could rest easy at night knowing the truth. But I can’t. And he doesn’t listen.
I lay awake at night staring into the dark, feeling the limitations of my senses. Feeling trapped in this body. Feeling confined in this box of existence. This meaningless reality.
I know I have the potential to be a great man. I know I have potential to do many good and great things.
But I worry that violence and fire will overtake me. Worried that the madness will blind me and I will let loose a monster. A monster I hate, and yet can somehow fully justify.
I know it’s unfair to expect one person to give me purpose. I know a girlfriend could never fulfill me completely.
I just wish it wasn’t like this.
Why does it have to be like this?
I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.
Human nature disgusts me. I constantly have to prove myself for smells only to watch someone else eat the food. It doesn’t matter what I do. I didn’t ask for this.