whiskered-fish

I’m just so tired of being me. I don’t want to be me anymore.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about virtue, and I’ve arrived at the realization that I have no virtues.

What about you? Do you have any virtues? And if you do, which ones?

I’m not mentally an adult yet, but I’m still expected to keep pace with every one of my peers who is, most of whom have been mentally adults for years and years. I feel like I’m trying to run a race with concrete shoes, and I’ve felt that way for most of my life, to some degree or another.

Did I ever tell you guys that one of my psychiatrists actually quit? Not his job, but my case. That’s right, I was such a mess that my psychiatrist quit on me.

According to him, and I’m paraphrasing him to the best of my memory, “Kat […]

Whenever someone tries to speak out about what’s going on in their head, they’re immediately shouted down by a chorus of people calling them edgy, an angsty teen, an emotional burden, a weakling, an attention whore, or worse.

Whenever someone kills themselves, the people around them wonder why they never spoke up about what they were feeling before they decided to end it.

This is not a coincidence. The connection is obvious, and yet it never stops. Why are people so infuriatingly stupid?

I remember once, when I was very little, I injured myself by stepping on some broken glass, and while I was sitting on the floor, whimpering and rocking back and forth with the shard embedded in my foot, my grandfather was busy yelling at me for getting blood on his carpet.

If that isn’t a good metaphor for my life, I don’t know what is.

Sometimes, I feel like if I were to off myself in front of an audience, they would be laughing and cheering me on while I do it.

All I have to look forward to in life is humiliation, failure, pain, and eventual death. And that’s if I’m lucky.

So whenever someone has the nerve to tell me that life is a gift, or precious, or somehow “worth living”, I want to scream.

Every day feels like a wasted day. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing, but I know that it isn’t nothing.

I’m not living; I’m just breathing. Wasting space and time.

As someone who’s eighteen and in college, I’m expected to be planning my future, but from where I’m standing, that seems like an impossible task.

How am I supposed to plan my future if I no longer have any interest in or desire to do anything? How am I supposed to plan my future when my head is a blank white room? How am I supposed to plan my future when I don’t even want one?

I’m not ready. I can’t do this.

I wish I knew how to combat numbness and brainfog. Not even delusion can rescue me from those, and they’re worse than pain.

You know what else is a myth? Benevolence. With very few exceptions, if someone is kind or warm towards you, it’s most likely because they haven’t had the opportunity to hurt you yet.

The world will mercilessly punish you for vulnerability. Don’t trust anyone who approaches you with a smile and an outstretched hand, because they’re trying to draw out that vulnerability.

This lesson is proven to me time and time again and yet I can’t seem to get it through my fucking head. It’s me against everyone. It’s everyone against everyone else. We’re all alone.

I’m half-convinced that the idea of “getting better” is just a cruel myth.

“Escapism isn’t healthy!”

Yeah, well, neither is being constantly bombarded with an unbearable reality. I’d rather die deluded and happy than “awake” and a miserable, broken wreck, thank you.

When all else fails, retreat into delusion. That’s what I’m best at, right?

None of this has to be real if I don’t want it to be. I don’t even have to be Kat if I don’t want to be. I can make it all go away, and I won’t ever have to resurface. Everything is going to be okay.

There is no point in trying to get better. There is no reason to keep going.

Kat isn’t worth saving or salvaging. She’s just not worth fighting for. I want to give up.

Yesterday, I had an episode in my Calculus class. Not a small one, either. It was probably the worst one I’ve ever had in public. I’m afraid to describe it here; that’s how humiliating it was. Suffice to say I completely lost my fucking mind, right in front of all those people. Now I’m too ashamed to set foot in the class again.

And to make matters worse, once I was out of the class, the episode didn’t stop. I went home and posted something really weird and stupid on my Facebook, and I texted some incoherent nonsense to one of my friends. I don’t […]

Don’t’cha just hate those nights when you can’t sleep because you’re too busy thinking about how you’re an infuriatingly pathetic loser with no future? Yeah, I hate those nights too. Those nights are the worst.

Every day, I feel like I’m strapped to a stool in a blank white room, watching paint dry. Every second is an hour and I can’t move.

Consciousness is restlessness. To be conscious is to be plagued by a perpetual itch that’s always just out of reach.

I want to die in the same way that a person would want to finally scratch a persistent itch.

Every morning, I wake up and let out a heavy sigh when I remember that I’m still Kat.