I’m not sure why I feel so bad. I guess it’s just the time of night, the thoughts that come around when it gets dark and I find I’m more or less alone. My chest aches; it’s this clenching feeling like it’s being squeezed. I don’t think I ever really get over anything, I just learn to think about it less.
I can’t decide what is worse: feeling wanted or unwanted. Sometimes I think the alternative to being alone is so much worse; there is so much bad that can come of it. I can’t make myself concerned enough to stop, but it hurts. Why do something that hurts? There isn’t even temporary relief anymore; it’s there and it never leaves. You’re caught with it, no matter what. Pursue what you will but it will come for you.
I am the greatest liar. It’s one of the very few things about myself I can admire. But here I am making myself more and more trouble. I going deeper and deeper and I’m finding I’m even more shallow than I ever suspected. I’m finding I’m one of those people I always voiced hatred and contempt for. I am taking all for me and damning anyone and everything that would condemn my ways. Am I not what I always wanted? Isn’t this what I wished for? To be detached and apathetic to anyone and everything, regardless of circumstance? Can I live with what I’ve done, what I am doing?
What does it matter, even, if I can’t have what I want above all else? Why should it matter if I tear a couple of people apart in the process? Is that not what this creature was intended for? Is that not what I have been trying for? I have grown. I am becoming better. Or worse. I still can’t decide which. Whatever this is, it is a little bit of change. I feel more angry and irrational by the day, and it makes this so much simpler. I am what I thought. My low self-esteem is entirely justified as far as I am concerned. It has all come true, hasn’t it? I am wanted only by things I am secretly disgusted by. I don’t want to admit it to myself, acknowledge just how bad I’ve been. I’m not guilty, only ashamed, ashamed that I have been taken down so easily without a fight.
I wish I could forget everything, but then I wouldn’t be going where I’m going. I wouldn’t feel like I’m actually becoming friends with my depression, to the point where no pills or doctors will be able to intervene on the path I am setting. I want to live in rage; I want to be blinded by negativity and hatred. They deserve it. I have been treated as nothing more than a plaything. I don’t need goals to live. I don’t need happiness to get by. They can take their shitty assumptions and ideals for themselves; I want no part. I’d prefer to live to destroy than to live for the sake of living. I won’t let anyone tell me different.