well, im depressed again. last night was particularly terrible but I can feel myself sliding back into the hole again today. all I could think of yesterday while washing the dishes was "god forbid the day hope comes back into my life." I just want to be done.
I. just. want. to. be. done. Please.
I hate life; I really do. I know, that's so preteen-y and emo-ish. uahhh. what a wimp, grow up, blah blah blah. but I don't really feel the need for attention or to whine. If I could, I would just silently raise my hand, and tell the teacher I need to leave now; then id slip to the back of the room, grab my poison and quietly exit out the door.
this is why I feel like I relate to movies about depressed, loner individuals so much, including ex-military men. I crave them because its like I am them. I feel safe when I watch them observing life. suffocation is comforting to share with another. though i guess in some ways its not, because my roommate has also been really depressed lately and sometimes I feel like between the two of us there is no air in this dorm to breathe.
I read this quote on pinterest the other day that said the way people around you feel about themselves is a good indication of how you make others feel. and I just thought, well shit, im fucked then, aren't I? because I continually seem to attract people who end up in a stuck, limbo-ish stage of flagellation. endlessly puttering around, trying to find something useful to do.
that's the thing, really. I wish I had a sense of purpose for life. laying in my bath last night, all I could think of is why. why, God, am I here, honestly? because I see no point and I wish I was never created. but on some low level I guess I believe that He has a purpose for everyone. so is there hope for me? could I ever find mine?
I put away the kitchen scissors last night and was tempted at the fond memories of cutting my flesh. there's a reason you do things like that; theres a reason you get so desperate. If I cant kill myself--which, trust me, is possibly more hopeless than actually contemplating it--then I gotta find some way to cope, some way to function. my dream life would be living alone in an apartment, holding a steady job, and owning a car. then I can just get up, got to work, starve all day and then come home and buy 5000 boxes of junk food. and I can binge and purge and binge and purge until I am inside out. and finally, after enough weeks have passed, I can be done.
im so sick of trying. im so sick of going on the little trolley track around my emotions. fuck I hate life turns into oh looks its sunny and there are people I like living into im so stressed I cant fucking think straight to thank god my works partially done to oh great, here we are again, back to fuck I hate life. round and round the mulberry bush the monkey chased the weasel.
ive been thinking too about what A posted as his FB status the other day. how life is entirely what you make of it, no victim-mentality, go out there and get what you want. and I would agree most of the time. except here. except when your soul is a Russian wasteland and you would rather die than reach another fucking accomplishment. whoopy-dee-fucking-do.
every day I feel like I get hit by these realizations that most people really, really don't like me. im not even sure my family would be friends with me if they didn't have to by blood. I feel like I have no one. and I feel like no one, justifiably so, gives a damn about that.
right. so. should we pretend through another day? oh my little whore...of course. isn't that what you've been doing all along?
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