werther

1711654844

content warning: meaninglessness

cruel irony is growing up to realize that what you want is love and be loved by one person, only to be discarded. not interesting enough, not handsome enough, cannot do things the way they want. and then they inflict lasting emotional damage by playing with your feelings like you yourself can just discard those and start with nothing. and then they look at you like you're weird for not being able to get over things

get a hobby. maybe you should work out, get out of your head. friend, i cannot walk without crying towards the end of it most days, and i promise you, i have walked more than you. i work out and my mind wanders. it forces me to relive painful moments, my imagination twists the knife, and no matter how many push-ups i do, the images remain. i sit in a cafe six hours a day to work because i cannot fathom being by myself. i bought an unlimited data flat so that i could work from there. funny, that cafe. everyone knows each other, from uni presumably. i seem to be the only person that doesn't know anyone. too weird to be approached, too socially inept to approach. can barely order coffee without stumbling over my words or feeling like my voice is too quiet. i feel weird for staying so long, and when i leave, i feel stupid for leaving, because now what? go home? there is no home. so i go out again, until i cannot physically walk anymore, only to be alone again. day after day. what more do you want? this is all i can give, and perhaps it's all i could ever give

it's like i am engaged in an elaborate masquerade. like i must lock myself in a cellar in my head to talk to people as some detached version of myself. every interaction feels fake because i'm scared of being weird, so i only ever do the same things the same way, because i've rehearsed those. fake confidence. discard. i don't even know where the fake me ends and the real me begins

i understand the idea. you must be a person and do things to be interesting to people, but i need a special someone to be interested in me, as a baseline, so that i could do things. i need that one person to even feel like i have a chance at surviving the day

therapy. like 50 minutes every week or so is somehow going to put a dent in the 6670 minutes that remain. i don't want to sound ungrateful. i appreciate the fact that there are people who dedicate their lives to listening to the problems of others. i am unworthy of these sorts of humans. but maybe all of that doesn't do anything, and the joke's on me. this all-encompassing loneliness, this feeling of not being accepted, and that it will never change, is such a heavy burden and i don't think i can shoulder it any longer

i don't know how i got here. i don't think i was ever okay, but at least i was able to imagine living. i really wish things could just go back to what they used to be

I’m a negative of a person. All I want is blackness, blackness and silence - Sylvia Plath