Life: the irritating, sing-song merry-go-round.

I don’t know what I’m doing, I honestly don’t. And I don’t care. Even the urge to die has tapered off lately. I’ve become this obsessive, pleasure-seeking thing. Not that it is bad—I think anything is an improvement, if I’m truthful. I’m nothing when I’m numb, and I want to die when my depression hits its peak, but right now all I want to do is anything that is different than the stagnation I expose myself to.

I’m not even worrying anymore. The guilt about not working is slowly dying away. I guess I’m hitting that “blind acceptance” point, because I’ve realized that I’ve done all I can do for now and I’ll just have to wait. I keep selling my useless shit online, like a fucking hobby. All the bullshit that used to mean something to me is now just trash. Things that I treasured no longer have that sacred value they used to have. Now I couldn’t care less if they are gone from my life.

I don’t know if this is permanent or just temporary. But I suppose at the moment all I want is something that isn’t exactly the same as everything that has happened before. If that means purging the old self, then fine. Oh well. It’s not like anyone would miss her. I’ve been holding onto that memory a little too long, I think.

When I get money I’m going to spend it. I’m going to spend it and not care. Because there is nothing to care about anymore. There’s second to second and nothing else. It’s all just a game that is long past being fun, long past meaning anything important. I don’t want it, so what does it matter?

The future is the past. It is the same thing. Why do I keep hoping for something different when I know that I’m running the same track over and over? You can’t suddenly wake up and expect things to get better, can you? It would be like asking the night not to come or the sun not to rise. It’s going to happen; there is no stopping it. I fight something that is inconsequential, and I smile at my own stupidity.

Beyond Reason

Long time, no post. Unusual for me. It’s the holidays; they grind my soul into sand. Nothing much has happened, Christmas was interesting (originally I intended to post about it, but I abandoned that one to the ‘draft’ section), yet uneventful at the same time. My depression is worse, what else is new. The honest truth, is that I have had a lot to write about it, I just…haven’t. I keep making drafts and then storing them away to never be looked at again. I don’t even take the time to finish them.

I made a resume up yesterday and sent a cover letter with it. I asked about a job at a mortuary (no, not at all kidding), and they said that although they didn’t have any current openings, that I could send in a resume anyway. They know I have no experience, so, at least they wanted that much. I don’t expect anything, but at least I have a resume now, even if it is rather pathetic. They won’t even hire me at Safeway, so good luck anywhere else…haha.

I keep having really bad days, really bad. I’m sleeping more, and all of my health problems seem to be worsening. My hair is falling out almost in locks, which scares me. My hands never seem to get warm, always chilled to the touch, even when I manage to heat my room to almost 70 degrees while it’s almost in the negatives outside. I wear gloves inside sometimes, and the rest of the time I just ignore it, like right now, even though they are so cold they ache. I guess it doesn’t matter, none of it does, really.

Is this what hell feels like? I hope it’s warmer there. All I want to do is sleep, but I’ve been writing anyway, pretending I’m okay. I’m not hiding it well, so I keep telling my family that I am just tired. Yes, tired after 12 hours of sleep…. Tired after doing nothing, day after day. Hmm. And they believe me. It doesn’t matter though. No one will save me, and I don’t expect them too. I don’t want them to, not really.

I keep getting lonely, which is absolutely the stupidiest part of all of this. Lonely, for what? What do these people hold for me? They would never get it…would never fully comprehend what this is. The most I could hope for anyone is five seconds of feigned empathy then a door slammed in my face.

It’s all over, done with, that. There aren’t people to love, to care about. Love. Ha. I don’t even love my cat, and that is saying something, considering he just crawled behind me and is now meowing for attention. No. I love nothing. I’m incapable. But I am not incapable of hate, and for that I will be grateful, because there are some days that I just wouldn’t survive without it, that memory of what it feels like to be so thoroughly consumed by something so…evil. It’s perfect, if there is anything that can fit that definition. I want to hate everything again instead of just wasting away feeling nothing…. I want to be back on a plane of existence where there is nothing but me against the world instead of me against myself.

I want there to be a day where I wake up and decide that’s the day to die, where I am so certain it is beyond questioning. It is law. My law. My time. Is that too much to ask of this fucked up head of mine? Probably. How disappointing.

All I ever do is walk the wrong path.

I feel so wrong. Sometimes it’s as though I’m some other person watching this complete idiot live their life. When I stand back and examine myself instead of others for a change, I always have to take about 10 seconds to quell my panic at the thought that this person is truly me. I’m so much stupider than I give myself credit for. I suppose it’s my own fault, really.

Each little pebble, the forbidding mountains to overcome
Every empty smile just one step closer
All those people
Just another damn face for me to create
They say “tell me about yourself”,
So I tell them lies
A phone number I never call, a friendship that has no where to go
These are your customs,
I beg you to leave me to mine
My answer is no to your every question
Just remember that every word I tell you is a lie.

Everything either crumbles, or fades away.

I’ve been so much worse lately. I don’t really know what’s going on with me. A few weeks ago I was a complete mess; the numbness was at it’s climax. I couldn’t feel anything. I felt as though I died just a little bit more. I know I should be on pills, I should go to therapy and try to fix myself, but that stubborn part keeps telling me that I don’t deserve to live if I can’t continue to handle it. I think that’s one of my pursuits, to either let myself break down and fall apart, or see if somehow I can find another way to make my condition less…unlivable. I get some sort of sadistic pleasure out of watching my own struggle; I laugh at myself at times, and the weaker part cowers and regresses further into numbness. Or does it progress?

I’m caught between trying to decide whether this life’s worth feeling for. Is it better to be cut off, or do I require some, even a more primal emotion in order to continue to live? I figure discontent and uncertainty are feelings. Perhaps not as “advanced” as say, sorrow or anger, but good enough, passable. It’s something, right? And just when I was starting to feel a bit comforted by the whole idea, my emotions decided to come running back to me.

I won’t tell anyone what made them come back; that’s my business. I suffered two days of crying in the night, and once in the middle of the day where I broke down and even my prodding, irritated, higher mind couldn’t stop the tears from falling. And it didn’t feel good. I got no release from it. It didn’t want to stop. It only ceased when I began mentally beating myself with as many harsh words that I could think up. Then back into blackness. Back to the darkness I so love and hate. No feeling. It was strange, because I’ve again been cut off the last few days from that oh-so-emotional self. And not just the crying. Everything. I walked into a stranger’s house and had not even the slightest feelings of discomfort—unheard of for me.

I’m getting deeper into this each day I live. And it’s frightening, because I honestly don’t know what is going to happen when I wake up in the morning. Am I going to be over-emotional? Am I not going to feel anything? Will I wake up in that rage? I don’t know. That’s the only answer I have for anything about myself right now: I just don’t know.