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wasn't planning on having this happen, but there you go
I’m lying here waiting for inspiration that never comes. I used to write even though I didn’t have it but once I realized how much I suck, I came to an abrupt stop.
(but I could never do that, someone would see through that)
How can someone spend years of their lives wanting only one thing, believing that they’re good at only one thing, and then realizing that they’re terrible at it? That truly, at the end of the day, they have nothing to offer?
What do you do when nothing makes you happy any more?
When you don’t enjoy being around any specific person?
When every conversation you have every day for years leaves you feeling disgusted and unfulfilled?
Do things really get better than this? Everyone said everything gets better after high school. I’ve said things get better after high school. They don’t. It just gets easier to shut people out.
Do people ever really decide what they would like to do with their lives, or do they just pick something?
We all have to play the stupid game of schooling and earning and paying for useless, stupid shit. Because that’s what we all have to do. We have to play the game. And if you start to lose, people will stop caring about you. Because they won’t know what to say to you. Even if they’re your friend. Especially if you’re their friend.
That’s why we have to smile when we’re sad. And make small-talk when we want to curl into the fetal position and shield our faces with our arms so that nothing can hurts us or see us.
I found an invincible summer within me but it doesn’t matter because there’s no point in defeating my darkness. Because after your fear drags you down through the disgusting sludge of despair and you slit its throat and crawl back out, you wonder why you bothered. What’s so great about living, anyway? What’s so great about the world that it’s worth fighting for?
I wonder if I’ll ever find anyone who I want to spend all of my time with. Most of the people my age enjoy being in superficial relationships that involve telling friends about phone calls and movies and what he told his friends. And the few relationships that don’t truly scare me because it’s like one person absolutely must become the dependent, commanding one and the other must become the submissive, obeying one and together, they must do everything together and always be able to talk about everything and must ignore their friends. Does no one enjoy walking in silence with somebody? Walking without having to hold hands or wrap arms around waists/shoulders, or stand still without clutching like blood-sucking leeches?
(a sadness I can’t erase all alone on your face)
I can’t look anybody in the face any more without having my initial reaction be disgust. I mean, I give everyone a chance but as soon as they open their mouths, they’ve basically forfeited any respect I might have momentarily held for them.
Do you believe in God? I do. God makes me want to stay alive. But God doesn’t make anything worth it for me. He can’t make people interesting to me. He can’t tell me what to do with my life. The only thing he can do is hold me when the darkness comes because if he didn’t then the darkness will probably win.
I say “only” as if that didn’t matter. But that isn’t what I meant. What I meant was that God can only help me when I’m at my lowest point. Which is fine. But I don’t reach the lowest point very often. Which is good. But there is a lot of other parts of life.
I just want something to actually make me happy. Something that is not an escape. Something that is not fiction nor alternate worlds nor music nor pixels. Is it sad that these are the only things that make me happy?
I have lots of other things to say, or rather I am feeling lots of other things right now but I don’t know what to say about them. This post probably could be read as “emo” or “angsty” or whatever the hell stupid label you want to put on it, but all I know is that it’s honest so it’s going in here. Maybe if I just keep being honest, then eventually I’ll write something. And by something, I mean prose or maybe on my story or something. What happened to writing? It’s been seven months.
But writing probably isn’t the only thing I should be worried about. I don’t look forward to anything any more. Everything is lame and ridiculous except for things that aren’t even real. I’ll never be good enough to succeed at my dreams (provided I ever figure out what they are) and I can say that and feel pretty confident that nobody really gives a shit about it.
(but I could never do that, someone would see through that)
How can someone spend years of their lives wanting only one thing, believing that they’re good at only one thing, and then realizing that they’re terrible at it? That truly, at the end of the day, they have nothing to offer?
What do you do when nothing makes you happy any more?
When you don’t enjoy being around any specific person?
When every conversation you have every day for years leaves you feeling disgusted and unfulfilled?
Do things really get better than this? Everyone said everything gets better after high school. I’ve said things get better after high school. They don’t. It just gets easier to shut people out.
Do people ever really decide what they would like to do with their lives, or do they just pick something?
We all have to play the stupid game of schooling and earning and paying for useless, stupid shit. Because that’s what we all have to do. We have to play the game. And if you start to lose, people will stop caring about you. Because they won’t know what to say to you. Even if they’re your friend. Especially if you’re their friend.
That’s why we have to smile when we’re sad. And make small-talk when we want to curl into the fetal position and shield our faces with our arms so that nothing can hurts us or see us.
I found an invincible summer within me but it doesn’t matter because there’s no point in defeating my darkness. Because after your fear drags you down through the disgusting sludge of despair and you slit its throat and crawl back out, you wonder why you bothered. What’s so great about living, anyway? What’s so great about the world that it’s worth fighting for?
I wonder if I’ll ever find anyone who I want to spend all of my time with. Most of the people my age enjoy being in superficial relationships that involve telling friends about phone calls and movies and what he told his friends. And the few relationships that don’t truly scare me because it’s like one person absolutely must become the dependent, commanding one and the other must become the submissive, obeying one and together, they must do everything together and always be able to talk about everything and must ignore their friends. Does no one enjoy walking in silence with somebody? Walking without having to hold hands or wrap arms around waists/shoulders, or stand still without clutching like blood-sucking leeches?
(a sadness I can’t erase all alone on your face)
I can’t look anybody in the face any more without having my initial reaction be disgust. I mean, I give everyone a chance but as soon as they open their mouths, they’ve basically forfeited any respect I might have momentarily held for them.
Do you believe in God? I do. God makes me want to stay alive. But God doesn’t make anything worth it for me. He can’t make people interesting to me. He can’t tell me what to do with my life. The only thing he can do is hold me when the darkness comes because if he didn’t then the darkness will probably win.
I say “only” as if that didn’t matter. But that isn’t what I meant. What I meant was that God can only help me when I’m at my lowest point. Which is fine. But I don’t reach the lowest point very often. Which is good. But there is a lot of other parts of life.
I just want something to actually make me happy. Something that is not an escape. Something that is not fiction nor alternate worlds nor music nor pixels. Is it sad that these are the only things that make me happy?
I have lots of other things to say, or rather I am feeling lots of other things right now but I don’t know what to say about them. This post probably could be read as “emo” or “angsty” or whatever the hell stupid label you want to put on it, but all I know is that it’s honest so it’s going in here. Maybe if I just keep being honest, then eventually I’ll write something. And by something, I mean prose or maybe on my story or something. What happened to writing? It’s been seven months.
But writing probably isn’t the only thing I should be worried about. I don’t look forward to anything any more. Everything is lame and ridiculous except for things that aren’t even real. I’ll never be good enough to succeed at my dreams (provided I ever figure out what they are) and I can say that and feel pretty confident that nobody really gives a shit about it.
Re: :(