Long hard road out of hell.

‘Why’ is a question I’d like to shoot. Obliterate. All I can ask myself is why. Why am I alive, why am I stupid enough to think I can do this…why am I such an idiot…why do these people think they are worth anything? I don’t know.

My godparents have been here for over a week, and are finally going back home. I’m relieved in a lot of ways, because it gets tiresome having to act happy and carefree when inside I’m rotting and crumbling in death. I want people to see what I am, I want them to know. I want to tear off all of these masks and let them see the monster underneath, the thing that feeds off of pain and revels in difference. But have I worked for nothing? I always wanted to go beneath the radar, but now, I wish I didn’t care whether they saw me for what I am or not. It’s too late though, it’s always too late.

I choose to be stuck in this hell hole, this fucking place that I don’t give a shit about. People who mean nothing to me…. I don’t understand why I chose this sometimes, I can only assume that part of me wants to prove them wrong and the other part wishes to finally make it to a point of relative peace in my life. I don’t think I’ll ever be peaceful, in all honesty.

I won’t make it. I don’t believe it. What does it matter though? I’ll just be the failure I’ve always been, it’s not that big of a deal.

If I stay…everyday will be a living hell. I can’t avoid the world forever, and if and when I manage to get my license and a job, I’m going to have to interact. Then I’m going to have to come home to this house for another 4-5 years probably, until I save up enough to get my own place. I’ll never be alone. Living in utter solitude isn’t something these people like to make feasible. No one wants hermits that would rather be burned for eternity than contribute to a disgusting, degraded society built on lies. I’d take torture over helping these people.

It would take years to get to that point where I would be able to be independent, and even then, I’m not going to be able to stop working to get away from the world. I’ll be trapped in it for years and years. I just don’t feel like I have ‘years’ to give. Hell, even months is pushing it. I’ve burnt out what little endurance for the human population I had, it’s gone now and not coming back.

I know what’s going to happen too. If I do get a job, it’s going to be the same as it always is: people pushing on me, pressuring me to like them and befriend them. I never understood why people seem to get drawn to me, I guess I never saw my masks as all that believable, but that is always what happens. I always get put into a position where I either burn a bridge or suck it up and force myself to endure the person. I’m so sick of it, all these fucking people who are scared to death of being alone. Stop being a bunch of fucking pussies and get over it already! The world is full of a bunch of dumbass peons, and at this point…I just don’t feel like dealing with it. Why should I have to deal with their stupidity? I’ll never know.

Life is just a long road in hell, plain and simple. Anyone who thinks there is something salvageable in all this garbage is blind. This place is a fucking disgrace made for the weak who can’t handle being outside of a cage where they aren’t constantly protected.

Never What it Seems.

Don’t ask me about this; I don’t know. I can’t say where it came for or why. I also can’t say if it makes sense or not, as what would I know? I’m half asleep and feeling rather…philosophical. And I’m frustrated that my brain can’t seem to keep up with the whirlpool of ideas flowing around in there…. I hate it when that happens. And I guess I can mention, I’m caught between depression and simply not giving a flying fuck, and apparently this is the creation born of such evil. Parts of it definitely suck, and probably mean absolutely nothing to the reader, but what the hell, I’m going to post it anyway then go fall asleep and NOT dream about black widow spiders. And if I do, I’m getting out a fucking blowtorch. Motherfucking spiders—sure the hell showed them in that dream though. Quite the crispy critters. Anyway, on with it….

Shining, reflective,
Sheets of metallic lies
Even the camera cannot hide it all
Not that inevitable dead in my eyes

There is an edge to that darkness,
Of this no one will speak
An emotion beyond comprehension,
That only the insane would seek

Beyond that edge, that cliffside,
Many things will be shown
All those burning questions…
The seeds of understanding finally sewn

In vain the world tears at threads,
The masterpiece of creation seen in sullied fragments
All too foolish to understand,
A life spent in painted lies rather than laments

A universe beyond lies, beyond feeling beyond sense,
Nature nurtures this eternal unrest
The way of things, the only true bias
In all of this suffering is balance, not test

It is in this thing that there is truth,
The one piece cast aside
The gold amongst the rotten trash,
It is not in “good” as they all lied

There is an end to darkness,
A place beyond this insanity
The rogue, the heretic,
The final Fall of the calamity

Crashing down to earth,
For once things become clear
I was never what I seemed;
I am not this person in the mirror

In case anyone actually reads this post, it’s basically about “darkness”, be it depression, evil, whatever, and how it causes one to come to certain…understandings about the world around them. People don’t like it, shun it even, because they are afraid of truth—it shatters ideals and reveals the world to be ugly rather than beautiful. I guess this is my sad attempt at trying to say that I’m doing my best to accept that ugliness and even learn and grow because of it. Ugly has always been beautiful to me after all; it is only in this brokenness that I can even exist at all. Bitterness keeps me alive, I know that now. It was never hope.

Start things over….

I have a long road ahead, and honestly, I don’t really know if I even want it. It’s part laziness, part doubt (make that a big part doubt), part numbness. All these things mixed together to make me insane, make me want to scream and hurt myself just to end this. But I keep telling myself that this is the chance I wanted, I havethat now, when I never thought I would get to live long enough to see it. This is the opportunity I wanted.

My father scoffs at my suicide, and I don’t even care anymore. I am not going to be a part of them for long, I will stray, betray as they have done. Do unto others what has been done to you, I suppose. I care not for my own loyalty, I will shed it, even if I have to cut it from my veins to do so. I will not be trapped and suffocated this way, by my own shortcomings and ridiculous personality traits; I am not a slave to any of it. It will soon be a slave to me, that I will make sure of before this is all over.

I have to try, even if I don’t think I am worth trying for. I’ll do it, if only to prove to everyone around me that, no, I am not as useless as you thought, and that in the end, I have become something you could never live with, could never be…. The world is too weak to survive this way, for any period. I’ve accomplished something already by just being alive. I can’t forget that, I won’t. I’ve been trying all along, really. Fighting and suffering in ways that others don’t and can’t. It has to be something….

But it hurts. It hurts more to be alive than anything. I’m tortured and haunted already, and nothing, not a job, not distraction, are going to change that. Once I’m alone, I remember. The one way I feel uninhibited, the one way I feel sane—this craving to be alone—it will end up being the death of me. And that makes me smile.

I’m almost over…so fucking close…. I’ll give it a few months after I manage to scramble and find some sort of employment. I’ll see if these feelings of worthlessness and stupidity fade just a little…I’ll see how I stand on my own two feet.

I have this one chance to start things over, to try again. It will either work, or it won’t. I don’t care what happens after that….

Rising above cowardice and fear.

I finally did it. I don’t know how, or why, but something rose inside of me. Self hate, perhaps? It was so overwhelming today I felt like that alone would kill me. Hell, just read the post before this one. I think writing it down as one of the reasons I felt so compelled for the first time in a long time, not to just stand around and let things go in a direction I don’t want to accept. It’s strange, because I feel nothing now that would have been expected from anyone else, not elation, not happiness, only relief, and a slight dread that I know will grow in the coming weeks when I have to stand by my decision.

It’s a fool’s choice, I know and accept that. But bowing down like a servile dog is so much worse, being a coward, being afraid of the unknown. What does it matter anyway, I wonder? Why should I be afraid of the future when I wasn’t even planning on having one? I’m going to try. I have to try. I’ll accept no less of myself.

I scoffed in the face of an “opportunity of a lifetime”. A college education that would more or less guarantee a good job, and better pay. I’m a moron, but who gives a shit, this is what I want. I asked myself, and this was the answer. I’m an adult, and I need to go my own way now, even if it scares me. This is the only chance I have, and I have to try. I’m so fucking tired of standing around and silently protesting—it’s over. Done. I can hate life and existence all I want, but the only way I have any way of improving things is by doing something about it. I’ve never been a follower, which is why I’m so infuriated at myself for not doing this sooner. I could already be well on my way to something…but this is no time to reminisce about what I could have done. I have now, at least, and I plan to throw myself into it to see what happens. I may turn out better, likely worse, but either way, at least this way I will not be an utter and complete failure.

Cowardice…it is something I loathe. The reason I did not do this sooner, admittedly is due to my parents. I was scared to death of facing them. My father…he does not deal with this sort of thing well. And his initial reaction, was, as expected, hostile. More or less him telling me, “hey I don’t control your life” in a sarcastic tone, and going on to state what I was wasting. Then he changed suddenly and got into a speech about family and how we “stick together” and so on and so forth—with a bit thrown in about how if ten years down the road I regret not going to college it’s all my fault and he’s not going to help me (I have to ask, why would I EVER ask him to?). It’s mixed; to be expected. It went over better than I thought, however.

I decided to do it in a letter, then face the wrath. My father has the tendency to interrupt and not let me finish, so not only do I get cut off, I lose my train of thought and can’t get my points across, which is exactly why I decided a letter would suit my purpose well. I made him read it through before talking with me.

My mother came into my room just as I was finishing what I was writing. She took it well. Of course this is after me telling her the same fucking thing about ten times previously and her saying, “I don’t want to talk about it” and getting into the entire blame-game mode, where she says “We were supposed to have a nice day without arguing” as though I ruined the day by voicing my discontent with my situation. Tell me, mom, is there any time I can talk about a problem I’m having, because it seems like each time I say something I get, “I don’t want to talk about it” from you. So you can see in a way why this took so damn long in coming out—there were quite a few reasons.

It’s over now. I don’t know what’s going to happen, for the first time in my life. There is no certainty in my future besides the fact that I will try. I don’t even know why I care. Honestly, I think I might have done it just to prove that I could, that I will try to do what everyone else so easily accomplishes. Prove that I am not weak nor worthless. As my father said “You’ve always been stubborn and independent. You’ll do what you want no matter what I say.” Once I give this a shot, that’s it. If this doesn’t work, nothing will. I don’t know what else I can do for myself at this point. I won’t be happy, I know that, but maybe it will be enough to keep me breathing a few more years. I have to get my license first of course, which will be fucking perfect…ahh, but hey, better than math homework and bullshit psychology classes I don’t believe in!

I’m taking a leap of faith. Faith in myself, which is in short supply these days.

Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day….

Nothing is static, everything is evolving, everything is falling apart. Not my words, but fitting nonetheless. We live, we fuck, we die. Over and over and over. No, things are not static, not at the lower levels anyway. In the scheme of things, however, all there is is one simple thing: a cycle. In that sense, the world is static. Perpetuate until system failure, basically, then things will be back to the entire “evolving, falling apart” bit.

When I stand back and really look at the world, I see…grey ugliness. Everything that is human is tainted, ugly, degraded…second best. We imitate nature in the most unflattering light, daring to call it “beauty” when it came from filthy human hands.

When I ask myself if I care, on any level whatsoever, I get a resounding “no”. I don’t care about this ugliness of humanity, I don’t care about the beauty of nature. I would stand above it and watch the world burn with a smile on my face. There is nothing in any of it; death is its master. Struggle all you like, save those rainforests, give food to the starving, it will all decay and die away sometime or another. Now just later rather than sooner, all so you could selfishly watch it suffer just a little bit longer, for your own enjoyment, for the enjoyment of your children. Fuck everyone else’s children; it only counts if yours are there to see it.

I’m near the end and I don’t care. I like the decay, I wish I could see it. I’m just a walking billboard of fake smiles and forced laughs, I have a bag full of seamless masks that the world is too stupid to see…. This isn’t my face, nothing is, because I don’t have one. Lift up the mask and find nothing, no being beneath. I live through lies. Each person is exposed to a different character, whatever one suits my needs or hides darkness best. There is not one person in the universe that knows what I am, at least not really. Oh, but they all think they do.

I woke up and went to my godparents house so I couldn’t stay alone in my room and kill myself. I was really considering it this morning. The only cure for that is another mask. I knew if I went to their house and stayed there all day, my stronger self would take over, fill in for me with the fake smiles and feigned interest. I don’t know how I do it, I really don’t. Whatever that part of me is, the one that will do anything in its power to stay undetected…why can’t it be used for other things? All I hear myself saying is, “I can’t, I can’t”, and I hate it. I hate to feel powerless, because I shouldn’t be, I pride myself in being in power, not out of it. Yet…there is no drive, no willpower. That’s the hilarity of it too: no willpower. I don’t have enough willpower to live, and I still haven’t quite had enough willpower to end it. Haha. How ironic.

I just bitch and moan and do nothing. Worthless beyond a doubt. But what does it matter? I’m just going to fucking smile and laugh and inside I’m going to scream and rage…. Until something snaps. I’ll either pull myself out of the hole I dug and face it, rather than being a weak piece of shit coward and doing nothing, or I’ll just die. What lovely options. I can quit school, work at the grocery store and call it a day, or I can keep going on a path that’s going to kill me. My choice, right? Supposedly it’s all my fault that I want to die, that I’m too weak to face anything. Everyone is so big and strong in the world, and here I am, the pitiful outsider who can’t deal with it, right? That’s what my father thinks, I’m sure. And my mother, she just doesn’t get it, period. But hell, who does!

Just laugh and smile and pretend you never heard a fucking thing.

Projects: An excuse to be occupied.

I’ve been trying to keep busy; staring into space gets old after awhile.

I’ve had a halved elk skull sitting on my deck for at least a few months, telling myself that I’d get to it eventually. Apparently ‘eventually’ was a few days ago when I was struck with a creative streak. Don’t ask me what happened, I have no idea…. I think it was the curtains. Yes, I moved beyond “caveman” and decided that sheets just weren’t cutting it. Now I have curtains to match Salem’s fur. They don’t have black curtains anywhere; it’s this huge mystery I can’t solve. Curtains are technically there to block out light, so what the fuck is somebody supposed to do with white curtains? I’ll never know…. Anyway, I had to make curtains. Came out quite nicely, actually. Who knew I could be so domestic.

On with it…I’m rambling today…. So let’s just pretend that black spray paint is my muse, because I took one look at the can, then glanced over at the skull and had an idea…. I was spraying the curtain rod things, because they were unevenly painted and bothered the perfectionist in me, but that damn skull, I saw it when I walked by with the can…. Well, I have an obsession. I shouldn’t have really even kept that particular skull, as it was in HALF and broken a lot inbetween, but I can’t resist skulls. And I knew it was going to look like shit if I just glued it together with superglue and glossed it over with furniture gloss. There are pretty substantial chunks of skull missing compared to the others I’ve collected—it is in very bad shape compared with Belial, but elk skulls are hard to come by, so hey….

I spray painted it black after I glued the two pieces together. I made certain to cover over the teeth with tape so that they could stay blinding white, which is a nice contrast to the black.

There it is just black.

Then I did something totally unexpected…I took out my paint set…. I think originally I was thinking “day of the dead”, you know, the happy flower shit. And then this is what happened:

I only realized when I started to paint the eye on the upper part that there was a whole theme to it. I was putting meaning into it. Nature, life, death. Nature sees everything, she accepts it all, perpetuation, cycle, etc. The eye is red, because to any normal person nature seems cruel and uncaring, but it’s just her way.

It’s not done. I have some blank spots to fill in and I’ll gloss it over when I finish painting on it.

Satan’s dog is…a border collie???

Today seemed to be dog day; I ran into dogs EVERYWHERE.

So there’s this dog…. I think it’s a he, though I have no proof, as his coat is too long for me to make any…certain conclusion. For the sake of easiness and less confusion, I’m just going to call it a “he”. Anyway, like the title says, he’s a border collie. A strange border collie. I’ve met a few border collies here and there, and have found them to be some of the most obnoxious and irritating dogs, likely because all the one’s I’ve known have been owned by people who didn’t seem to understand that this specific breed of dog needs A LOT of exercise, or else you’ll end up with a psychotic, chewing, excitable mess. It’s a working dog, not a couch potato.

He pretty much stays locked up in a pen all day. It’s basically a chain-link fence with some weeds and a small dog house. But this dog…he never barks. I walk by and his head just follows me, but he doesn’t get up and he doesn’t show any sort of concern. Weird, considering dogs generally don’t like me and come after me if I so much as glance in their direction (gee…I wonder why?). But he never does anything, he just watches. I’ve tried in vain a couple of times to get him annoyed, and have only succeeded once in getting him to bark rather boredly, then lay back down.

For a long time I just thought he was non-confrontational or something, or that he just wasn’t interested in people. Today…kinda changed that. I had to sit back and ask myself, “is this dog human?” We’ll get into that later…. The point is, I’ve always thought he was a bit…off, which is probably why I’ve always had an interest in him when I have a tendency to indescriminately hate all dogs. Cat in a past life, maybe? Well whatever it is, this dog is…different. He stares like a person does, like he’s thinking about something, sizing you up maybe…. Quite frankly, the way he looks at people is just fucking weird…. Not dog-like in the least.

Today I get back from my walk late, and just had a bit of a scare when I saw a car nearly run over a black cat (my cat can’t get run over; he’s indoors, but I still have a soft spot for all the black kitties out there…), when I’m making my way toward the house that that dog lives at. I have my sunglasses on still even though it’s dark, so it’s hard to make things out well from a distance when the world around is shutting down into night. But I definitely see something.

The collie comes up to the fence when he sees me (odd behavior right there for this particular dog), and I can see he has something in his mouth, though I can’t tell what. I walk a bit closer, trying to see what the hell it is, because I could have sworn it wiggled. I had originally thought it was a dog toy, but most of those don’t move like a living thing. He drops it when he gets closer to me, and I approach the fence. I still can’t tell what it is; it looks like a little furry blob of something (I’m still thinking dog toy), then it moves. His paw goes out and steps on something, I realize, a tail.

The squirrel is trying desperately to get away, but the collie has it pinned with one foot and is just looking at me with the strangest blank expression. Normally I have no pitty for squirrels; I hate the little fuckers and use them for target practice when they piss me off. Not just that, but I enjoy watching other animals hunt, I think it’s fascinating. But for some reason this squirrel strikes me as an underdog, and I have a thing for underdogs, perhaps because I’ve always been one, the weaker, unlikely thing that claws its way along in life. It’s really struggling to get away, even though from what I can see it’s totally mangled. I say to the dog, “Hey!”. He sidesteps, still watching me with his odd non-dog expression, and the squirrel is freed. It limps pathetically away, and I can see that its tail is bent like a piece of wire, completely snapped. The border collie looks at the squirrel then back at me. He whines that funny whine, its a mix between playful and annoyed. The squirrel isn’t getting very far; he’s done for as far as I see it, though I give him brownie points for trying so hard. And the collie makes that weird noise again, watching me, and turning his head as though to ask me if he can just get down to business and eat the squirrel I’d so rudely told him he couldn’t have.

I walk away from the fence and decide to just let him have his fun. I’m fairly sure the squirrel was in the pen still, because he sure wasn’t moving fast. That dog is probably gnawing him all to hell now…haha. Now that I think of it, I probably shouldn’t have interrupted him at all. Chances are he must have caught that squirrel…and I say if you can catch it, you can have it…. Squirrels are quick as hell, you have to be fucking good to be able to get one of those. Either way though, there is something not quite normal or right about that dog…. If he was a dog at a shelter, I’d take him home for sure, and that’s saying something coming from a cat-loving-dog-hater.

I’m a bipolar whirlwind….

I’ve been so fucked up today. I can’t explain it really. Generally I’m always moody, obviously that’s nothing new, but there are some days where I am just HORRIBLE. Every little thing gets to me, and it can go on for days and days. Most of the time I wind up throwing things and cursing the world for just…existing. I secretly hope for the world to explode so that 1. I’ll be dead and no longer capable of being bothered, or 2. Everyone else will be dead and no longer capable of speaking. Either way, it sounds good.

So yesterday to settle myself down a little I went and downloaded some new stuff to listen to. Naturally, the one song I really wanted isn’t there. So I decided to go check out another site I like to use when I don’t feel like spending money…and of course the song isn’t there either. That alone was enough to set me off for half the night. I don’t know why, I can’t explain it. It’s not a big deal, I don’t even really care, yet I got all pissed and huffy about it anyway. Don’t you hate it when that happens? Then I cooled down and was perfectly alright for a few hours. I wake up this morning in an okay mood, then all of a sudden I turn into a complete bitch again.

Some days I eat once a day, and hardly at all. What’s funny is that the ultra-low calorie intake isn’t doing anything to me physically (I thought I would be a bit weak for awhile, but I’ve actually been feeling quite well lately), though I’m beginning to suspect that it might have something to do with my constant annoyance being worse than ever for seemingly no reason. I don’t really feel hungry anymore; I’ve sort of gotten beyond that point because I fast from about 5:00 in the afternoon to around 3:00-4:00 in the morning. I’m getting used to not eating at all during that time, though there are still the days when all I want to do is ingest an entire carton of ice cream…and who the fuck knows why, though I never let myself. But anyway, I think the entire food denial thing isn’t necessarily helping. At the same time I feel better because my clothes are loose and I practically swim in the shirts that used to be tight on me. It’s the better of two evils sort of thing. Not lesser, better.

I cleaned my room; I used a mop any everything. It’s a bloody fucking miracle! And I updated my fanfiction crap a chapter, which also makes me feel a bit better. Still haven’t been able to find that fucking song on the internet. Oh well. I’ll probably go over to Best Buy in a few days and pick up the damn album, IF they even have it…. They better…. Or else ultimate wrath will ensue.

I’m going to go quading.

To the knights in shining armor and the little kids….

I must have a sign on my forehead or something. I think it must say something to the effect of, “bother me”. Honestly, I pride myself in having quite a mundane life, but these people…Christ, they must have no lives at all. Who drives around in the forest just to do it, and who rides their bikes up and down the street for four hour intervals? These people, apparently.

I’ve accepted the fact that “walking in the woods” is only alone time if I make an excessive effort for it to be that way. Meaning, I better be in the fucking middle of nowhere, hours away from where the crazy normal people congregate. And even then, I’m going to run into someone on the damn way to nowhere.

I must be quite the spectacle, because people just can’t seem to control themselves from stopping their cars to ask what I’m doing or if I need a ride. And if it’s a lone guy, they always ask the same question, “Are you okay?”, like they think I was a recent rape victim or something. Yeah, I was perfectlyfine until you forced me to remove my headphones and interrupted my bloody fucking goddamned business! MY BUSINESS! Yes, “MY”, meaning NOT “you” or “yours”. I go into the woods to get away from humanity, not to shoot the breeze with the people who drive by, or to give directions to places I’ve never heard of.

Yes, I’m a bit jaded, surely, but I know that the only reason people pretend to give a shit is because they’re doing something leisurely. This means that “helping” some poor “young girl” in the woods, isn’t interrupting their precious schedule. Think about people on the side of the road whose car broke down. Now when do you ever see somebody stop? Pretty much never right? Right. Now why is that? Because chances are if you’re driving on the highway you’re going somewhere…I mean that’s just a wild guess…. Obviously, people aren’t going to stop when it is inconvenient for them.

And the people collecting the pine cones! AHG! STOP LITTERING. I know you’re not some “green” cult, because you leave your damn soda and beer cans EVERYWHERE. If you can bend over to pick up a pinecone, I think you can bend down to pick up the can you finished, piece of shit. I’m not all “save the flowers” or anything, but if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s people who are lazy as fuck and shit where they eat. And stop throwing the pinecones like a damn digging dog! You keep getting them all over the road that people drive on, and you nearly hit me last time I walked by! Look where you’re throwing those things!

And the kids…. There isn’t much that I can say that will keep me from cursing. Stop stalking me. No, I don’t think it’s cute or funny that you follow me around on your bicycles singing “Crazy Train” at me. Or shouting “OZZY!!! WAIT UP OZZZZZY!” or “WHERE’S ZAKK WYLDE, OZZY?” or “HEY PRINCE OF DARKNESS!”. For one thing, I really don’t look like Ozzy, except for the hair, and even that’s a stretch because besides the fact that it’s black, there isn’t much else remotely “Ozzy”. Two, if you’re such a huge fan of Ozzy, you need to know more than one song, because it makes me doubt your loyalty when you only seem to know “Crazy Train”. Three, I don’t want to date any of you, get it through your head. What are you, twelve in the fifth or sixth grade? Get lives. Four, Ozzy does not want to play with you. The Prince of Darkness wants to be left to herself and doesn’t feel like answering anymore of your completely retarded questions. You waste my precious time, interrupt my music, and nearly get me hit by cars. And if you EVER follow me to my house or into the woods…I will go Ozzy Osbourne on your ass. I mean bite the heads off bats and doves kind of shit. You don’t want to see that, because it would be something like this:

Or maybe this:

I am only tolerating the existence of the world at this point. And my toleration is running very thin, very quickly. All I ask is to be left alone, yet even that seems to be too much to ask. I feel as though the world is lonely and is trying to take out its frustration on me…. Find someone who gives a shit, really…. I just want to go for my walk. ALONE.

Eternal Darkness

I just woke up about ten minutes ago (keep in mind it’s 4:00 in the afternoon…). I’m guessing it’s the depression that’s causing me to sleep so much and just feel perpetually exhausted no matter how much sleep I actually get. When I wake up I don’t feel…rested. I sleep so long that I can’t discern the time anymore when I wake; I’ve started having to keep a clock by my bed.

The moon is bright some nights. It’s as though someone is shining a light in through my window, and it makes it difficult to fall to sleep. As a kid I used to sleep with the light on, I did it for years, but now I’ve resigned myself to the fact that if there is any scary monster lurking about in my room, then I’ll just have to get out of bed and stab it with some sharp, pointy object, because I fucking love the darkness. When it’s black like a shadow, no one can see you properly, and every movement has to be studied. It’s quiet in the dark, and even if there are people there, I can’t see them….

I think I wrote about it awhile ago—at the beginning of summer—that I covered over my windows with dark sheets. Now even the moon can’t bother me, and the sun is more or less forgotten even at its highest in the afternoon. It has no hold on me, except at sunset. I have to leave the house before it gets too low, or else I’ll be out in the forest in the black. I would love to walk there at night…but every time I stay to long I see the beams of headlights and realize that my parents came searching for me….

I don’t really believe that people care anymore. If they do, then to me that signifies their own weaknesses, their own shortcomings. But the fact is, that caring never lasts forever. There have been so many people that I used to talk to, both friends from school or friends on the internet that just…stopped talking. I accept the fact that every relationship is only temporary, and because of that there is hardly reason to pursue such things. I always spent years on my friendships; perhaps it’s my stupidity. I believed that my own feelings were reciprocated, when they never actually were.

Every part of my life has been consumed by my own hate. I’ve let it be so, but at the same time I feel that the world has given me no alternate path. I drown in my own choice, this decision that everyone tells me isn’t possible. Yet…why do I like it so much?

Life without people makes for a world that’s truly free.