Decided to come back again and write some more pitiful poetry. Well, kind of I guess. This time it is not about a mask, I think since then I have begun to accept it as a reality and perhaps that may contribute to the reason I feel like running away. This is my life now. You know, when I was in my depressed in my teens this is exactly how I imagined my life in my 20s (assuming then that I would make it to my 20s). Drunk, lonely, and fucking miserable. This freeloading sack of shit is precisely what I envisioned my life would be like. Then I “got better” for a little while and had all these sorts of imaginations of what I “deserve” and what I can have. But thats all they are ever going to be. Imaginations. Delusions. And then I get right back on path; the path of pity and depression. Loneliness and misery. So here I am: depressed among people who do me no good and, either, losing or pushing away the people that can possibly help me.
Ahh the joys of this ever familiar sensation of sadness.