sometimes i come here to drown.
leave or stay if you want.
dating entries doesn't matter anymore because these feelings are all the
same; continuously flowing.
⋅───⊱༺･♰･༻⊰───⋅
nothing makes me feel better anymore. i thought maybe opening this private little page away from the internet for myself might make it better, but it's not. nothing has and nothing feels like it ever will. all i can think about is how lonely i feel. even when i do stuff i enjoy, all i can think about is the life i wanted right out of my grasp. i don't even want my dreams anymore. the very things i've wanted all my life don't bring joy to me; just makes me feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. so i stopped caring about it, and felt lighter. and i stopped caring about people, and felt better too, but it makes me feel so distant from the world, like i'm an outsider looking at a screen. that's what the world feels like lately, how it always has been. i feel like i'm on the other side of the glass, where i can view but never participate, and never will. i get to see people walking side by side and eating at restaurants and laughing together and i always used to think, "one day, that will be me." and i still feel happy for them, even if it pains me, especially because now i know that will never happen. i know i should stop deluding myself with those things that i wanted, by dremaing up a daydream, but it feels so good. it's simple pleasures like that in life, where i can talk to myself and be alone in my head and know that that will never disappoint me. i'll forever be happy up there, because if i think too long based in reality, i'll only get upset again.
so i feel free here because it's just me. me and me alone, just as it's always been. i always thought maybe there was something wrong with me, why i couldn't connect with others, but i accepted at a young age that it's okay, because not everyone will be in the same place in their lives. i thought surely i'd fine someone who'd get me, someone to understand me, but i feel like no one wants that version of me. people like me when i'm happy, and i make many friends, so i can give them happy all the time because i never have anyone to lean on. i don't want to reach out anymore, because i'd often do it in the past and get dismissed, so i don't want to express anything else anymore. if i don't, i'll get confirmation that no one really cares about me, so i have to keep up the delusional or else i really will be sad. i want to be alone and i want to connect with others. not shallow connections. real connections. i love my friends and feel bad that i don't talk to them more, but that's because they are moving on with their lives, and i don't want to distress them by only coming back to talk about how bad i feel. that's being a downer, and i don't want to be a downer, so i'll keep it all to myself, so i won't bother no one anymore.
it doens't even feel good, writing. nothing feels really good anymore, even when life was going bad i had things that made me feel good, but now they don't. i don't get why people can be so mean. i'm never mean like that and dismissive to people when they need something from me, so why does everyone always make me feel dumb for wanting to be sad, or having something wrong? it's not fair. i treat others how i want to be treated, and i still don't get treated well, so now i will turn myself away from the world and seclude myself somewhere. i haven't decided where yet, but when i get my own room, it'll feel so good. i can lay around all day and only leave to work and life will be good. i won'thave to pretend unless i feel like pretending that day, and then i can be free of judgement forever. it'll feel so good. i can't wait for that future. it'll be so good. it's the only thing perfect and worth it to me. it's the only thing i can ever be. i was stupid for thinking i'd achieve something. i should've stuck to my place a long time ago: in the shadows and unremarkable and unworthwhile. i wish someone were here for me.
no more crying. no more. i gave myself an eye infection from crying so much. my tear duct got a clog. how does that even happen, when you're an adult? i never used to cry. life was always tough so it didn't serve me any purpose. now i cry every week, because i thought life would get better. i only want a friend. i want someone who loves me, as friends do. i want someone who gets me. i want someone who understands me. i used to think it would happen to me every year. i'd think, "this time i'll happen. i can feel it." and every time i'd be wrong. i want someone i can talk to about anything. we can be each other's worlds. life doesn't seem very sweet without someone by you're side. i used to think it would happen eventually, so i enjoyed doing things by myself. going everywhere, eating everywhere alone. now even during my favorite things i wish i were accompanied by someone else. i want someone to experience things with. to share things with. and now my youth is slipping away, and i'll never have that thing. i can sweat like a dog and break my back at college working towards i future, but that is the one thing i can't earn. i can't work hard for a friend. that's something out of my control. i spend every waking moment of my life talking to someone who isn't there, and it's only when i stop and think about it that it hurts extra hard. i am keeping myself company, because i am my own best friend. "this time for sure," i say every year, and every year it never comes.
i used to see myself all the timee in a dark room. i'd envision myself alone in the dark, wasting away on a couch dressed in a stained tank top and pajama shorts i hadn't changed out of in three days. i used to think about that only sometimes, where i'd only wasted away for hours and days and years at a time alone, in a dark room with a tv tuned to nothing. it was a very random fear that only sometimes popped into my head, but it still scared me, and still does because it's happening every day. what i thought was never going to happen is slowly coming to be. all that time i've been thinking i've grown further away from it, meanwhile i never even left that room.
i really want to be a writer, but it's humiliating when you don't even write that well. it means nothing if even i hate it. i don't think i'm a good writer, because i forgot how. i forgot how to practice making my ideas a reality; it's just like real life. i spent so much time thinking about the future that i forgot to take the steps to even get there. i suck at writing. i'm so stupid. i can't even hit the keys anymore. maybe my brain is shutting down. maybe i'm shutting donw.
whhat's worse is i have nothing to do. i stopped cutting when i was 17. i stopped starving when i was 19. i don't do drugs. i don't smoke. i never used to drink. i took up drinking soju weekly because i was bored. at least it gave me something to do because i have nothing that stimulates me. i don't even like the taste of alcohol. i don't even like how it makes me feel, but at least i'm not bored. this is so stupid. i want something engaging for a change. i'm never going to stop being bored. trees will never be colorful again.
sometimes i can't decide between whether i want to grow old or die young. i like how tragic youthful death makesme, even if i know it's wrong to romanticize it. but something needs to be said about death young, how you're forver regarding someone with, "what if? what if?" i know i'm being narrow-sighted and that i should live long, and i will appreciate and cherish every day. i have all the tomorrows someone would only wish they had. and i have them. they're all for me. thank you for letting me be alive. i will love every day no matter how much it anguishes me, even if i am alone.
i love being alone like this atnight, here on my little site with no one to discover or find me. i can be free to share my thoughts with myself since no one's around to hear, just me. i love this little thing. i will never feel such delight presently again.
his name is db. do you want to know who he is? he's the boy inside my head. i've had him since i was ten. we've done everything together. we've grown up and never apart. i've tried to let him go before, but i just couldn't stand to be apart from him, and i came back to him after two years. he's been with me through everything, and we've done so much together. i know he isn't real, but he is to me. and knowing he will never be real pains me more than anything.
right now i sleep on a couch. i don't have my own room. i've never really had my own room. never decorate the walls, because i know we'll be moving soon. so i stay ready to move because no place is ever permanent. i save all my posters and pictures for when i'll get my own room. my first, real room, where it'll be mine and mine alone. i'm getting so sleepy, but i don't want to go to bed. i wish i could stay up forever in eternal night, that way i could never leave my perfect nocturnal paradise. i could stay here forever. i wish i could stay. i don't want to go. i want to be here forever. i wish i could stay here forever, that way i could finally and perfectly and permanently be alone. this way i will be exactly how i feel. alone in perfection. solitude. no one will ever be mean to me here. i will be alone.
i have a fear that one day i will choose to tell people how i really feel and they will be mean to me, because that's how it usually is so far. if someone else wants to be honest, they get consoled. if i want to be consoled, i have to be in tears before anyone takes me seriously. why is my sorrow not good enough on its own? why will no one take me seriously. in another life, i'd be gone from this world, and people would be confused even though i've told them how i've felt this entire time. but it's always the same: no one believes me. they try to tell me how i feel instead, or think i'm not being serious when i say it because it's not "painful" enough for them. it's not real enough. i'm such good of an actor that even when i stop playing the part, people think the cameras are still rolling. then one day soon i can get to a dressing room where i can be by myself and my shattered emotions in solitude. me and me alone. me me me me
maybe i should decorate my new home, since i'm here. i love being able to ramble. i love being able to write down the first thing that comes to mind. here i can be me without having to shield or worry about whether my words will be misconstrued down the line. here i can be free to be me. i can say what i think and feel what i feel without having to take anyone's feelings into mind. not because i'd be hurtful, but because somehow everyone else's moods are directly determined by my emotions. everyone needs me to be happy. i love being happy. i just wish it were real.
i have to wait until a problem gets bad. if i don't let it get bad enough, then no one will believe me. they will think i'm exaggerating because i use hyperbolic humor. they do not think i'm capable of honesty. i always tell the truth and yet i always get treated like i'm lying. why don't people understand that i say what i mean? i hate people. i love people. i don't mean that, but i do. deep down, i do. everything i say, i mean it deep down. i do.
i used to be all yellow.
where would i belong? i'm not dedicated a fan to most things to be in a community. i don't know all the horror movies. i don't know all the actor's names. i've never read all the books. i never had the chance. always on the outside looking in at everyone having fun. everyone connecting to others through common ground. even in communities the attitude festered just seems so unappealing, like with others writers. my interests are not peculiar at all, but it seems like i can never find someone who enjoys them like i do in real life. even when i make friends, it's only through the shallow broadened categories that we get along: drawing, watching, reading. but never anything more. even when i can be involved, it's only ever me who gives up talking about what i love for the sake of common ground. if i were exactly like everyone else, life would be very easy for me. if i partook or consumed the same things at the same time, all the time. if i never did anything else i enjoyed, only pushed it down for the sake of being worthwhile, i would make life easier for me. what's the purpose of being considerate? i'm alone anyway.
i wish i were like nina in black swan. i feel like i'm her in so many ways. constantly giving it my all for something i love only for it to go so far no where. i wish to be here, to sacrifice blood, sweat, my body in order to feel like i earned it. already now my wrists are in constant pain, and i don't know what to do. the only thing i can do is revel in the feeling when my forearm goes numb, and push through it, even if it it constantly hurts, constantly feels sore, because the only little ways to romanticize my life now is to revel in the destruction. i'm only going to get worse from here, and i enjoy it.
i have trouble imbuing my works with my feelings because i hate talking about myself. i feel like so many writers have that for a bad habit; all they do is talk about themselves. all their work is so close-minded, because it's all about them and what they've been through, even if it's through another name or face. they're so self-centered, that's why i can't get along with them. here i write for me, through me, because i am not going to write the story about me under a thin veil, because they end up writing the same story over and over again, just told in different words. i enjoy writing fiction because i can explore other worlds, other realities, not because i want to get away from my own, but because there is only so much time in the world. you cannot live every option, you cannot go down every path. so this is where i funnel all of the "what ifs? what ifs?" in my fictional stories. because i'm interested in hearing about other people, not my own life. i want to hear about someone else.
i wish i could remove myself from my current state and start over. not undo, but progress to a newer, cleaner point, like opening a blank document. i would remove all of my socials, all of my discover servers, all of my posts, and just be new with no one who knows me. i love my friends, so i'd take them with me, because online is the only place i can see them every day, like usual. i would bring them with me and no one else. no former contacts. no former life. just me and a clear new sky.
it almost feels like i will never get a job. i spent all my life wanting one thing only to not desire for it anymore. so now i don't know what i'll do. i know one day i'll get a job, because that's the kind of future i can envision, but every day i pinball between wanting my big ambition and wanting a quaint dream. so because i can't decide between the two, now i will be blank. now i see black instead of a future, so i can focus on the steps of today, and how the present will eventually lead me to the future i've been designed to have. i don't know what i want anymore, so now i want nothing. then maybe it will all be for nothing. i've been working hard all my life. i don't feel like working hard anymore, because it's going to get me no where, and i'll run myself into the ground working hard every day for every thing for it to amount to nothing. so i will be me now, and pretend the world doens't exist.
sometimes i want to go back to the eating disorder website just to feel a form of comfort. i loved how i could interact with other people on the forum there, how there was a community of us anonymous, all online, all there and not at the same time. even though i don't have it anymore, i almost wish i could relapse just so i wouldn't be so bored. because now that i'm free of everything, there's nothing that allows my mind to dwadle. i could be putting a good use to my time, and instead i'm doing nothing, because nothing feels worth it anymore.
i love how every so often i convince myself that my yesteryear was never that bad. for years i've been doing that, operating under the illusion that everything wasn't that bad now that it's over. but i love recordkeeping for that exact reason, because sometimes, when i work up the nerve to go revisit that time, i'll see that nothing's changed at all. every feeling that i feel now has been here for years, and i've been fooling myself otherwise. but i consider myself lucky every time. who am i kidding? if i ignore it, maybe it'll go away.
you know what's really depressing? receiving letters from futureme. every year i write in there to give myself hope, and every year i get disappointed, but like a dog whipped my its owner, i keep coming back for more. "this time, this time for sure." and every year i open the letter and get reminded of the same thing. that things are worse, but surely they won't remain that way for long. life won't remain that way forever. this year for sure. this year for sure. this year for sure. this year
and because it takes so long to grow, i can't even cut my hair. no changes for me; nothing i can do to shake things up and make life more interesting for a change. i always have to abide by the rules and time put in place by other people. always set to obey. and like a good little pet, i do, because i'll be the one who gets in trouble if i don't. they could lead me to a fire and i'd be in trouble because i didn't want to get burned.
i want to make music, but i don't know how. i can't really sing either, only sometimes. i love writing lyrics though. it's like poetry you're meant to limit by line and rhyme. i still like coming up with my own little tunes that i wish were real songs, that way i could play them over and over again. it's even worse when it happens when you're asleep. i've lost so many a good song to dreams.
so what if i'm changed? when will it be in a good way?
I think I will order a muffin to make myself feel better. It is a new day, and I've been going a good job, so why can't I get a chocolate muffin? It would make me happy, and I could drown my feelings again.
I keep ending up in areas with no people my age. They're either younger or older than me. I wonder where they've all gone. I wish to be less alone.
I take buzzfeed quizzes so i can be less alone. it's night now, so i stare at my computer screen and take quizzes that make me feel more lonely than before. when moments of sadness randomly strike it really takes me out. it's because i brush it aside to deal with later, but i honestly don't know what it wants from me. i'm going to hhave to get used to the fact that i will feel like this for a very, very long time.
that's why i use social media, to feel less alone. it feels even worse now, because human connection is so sparse now that bots have taken over in droves. and people ignore my emails. i will never get a chance at interaction ever again. i live in a dystopian society where only i am real and breathing, because everything feels artificial and far off now, far away. i want to reach out and grab it in my hand. i want to cradle it and feel love.
now i can't get rid of my fantasies because i have nothing else to preoccupy my time. i quit, but there's really nothing else to replace the brief hits of pleasure i feel from those, so i don't want to stop. every time i stop, i get sad, because i have to remind myself that it isn't real, and that it will never happen to me. that feels like a common centerpiece in my life, where i am always hearing about the thingspeople did and experienced in their lives that iwill never get a chance to, because i wasn't born around the right people, or in the right tax bracket, or at the right time. i'm forever doomed to hear about experiences others have while i am longing to reach out for them from the sidelines.
even now when i have experiences it's no use, because now all i think about is how lonely i feel. everyone attends events or things with their family or friends, so it's not like you can find someone new. and it's never anyone who's my age, too. they're all older than me, or so much younger than me. i wish i could even just see people my age to know that they are real. right now, they feellike some sort of abstract concept i've dreamt up again.
eating me inside. it's all i can think about.
i hate how i've spent so long feeling so many things that i feel nothing anymore. nothing bothers me. it does, but that cavern feeling in my chest is gone. i know i feel disappointed, but can't find it in me to care.
it's all for nothing :(