I'm not sure what I'm looking for. Maybe just a void to yell my chaos at in hopes that it will curl itself into some sense. I move sluggishly through life, immune to pleasure, my brow permanently furrowed in some nameless anguish. I give myself a headache from scowling too much. I'm not sure what's wrong, everything and nothing all at the same time perhaps. It doesn't really matter, I will die someday and all this pain will mean nothing. Every time I try to strive for something greater, my stupid brain comes along and dumps poison all over it and turns it into decay.
I remember myself a year ago, so hopeful and optimistic and naive. I feel like a shadow of her. I can't seem to do anything these days. I open my email and stare blankly at the screen until the words all squish together in a haze of responsibilities and obligations and guilt. 20 minutes of that is enough to make me want to curl up in bed and sleep for the rest of the day.
It's easier to cut and run and cut and run and cut and run than to deal with the pile of shit I leave in my wake everywhere I go. Yes I suppose I should fix myself, or I could spiral deeper downward in search of a purer and more distilled form of torture. At least maybe then I'll have something to write about, haha haha.
I hope nobody is reading this but I doubt it. Actually I guess I do hope someone is reading this. I wouldn't push it on anyone but if they happened to come across it I wouldn't mind. I found out my old roommate came across my journals while we were living together and took pictures of them so he could read them at his leisure. Not sure how to feel about that but I guess now all the cats are out of the bag and I can't pretend I'm not a depraved and heartless monster anymore. I've quarantined myself so I won't inflict me on anybody else. I've placed traps and constructed walls so nobody will get in.
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