“Monsters don’t sleep under your bed. They sleep inside your head.”
Why do people do the same shit and expect a different outcome? Do you think anyone intentionally likes to fuck things up for themselves? Repeating destructive patterns and hoping for something good but never actually receiving it? It’s a behaviour, a pattern, a comfort zone. What world do we know if we, as self-destructive human beings, don’t have pain? Self-inflicted pain, physical and emotional. I’m resting on a nest full of dark stories. The mediocrity of life is making me want to stand at the edge of a mountain and yell. I want someone to yell at. I want someone to listen to me when I scream.
You are no fucking longer invited to know anything about me or my life. The thought of you with me makes my skin crawl. The thought of anyone with me makes my skin crawl. I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to hear you. Your existence is no longer present. Leave me alone, everyone. You can fuck right off.
I have so much anger and hatred towards myself. I’m living my life as if it were a test drive and I can do it over right next time. It seems I have no concern for my physical or emotional safety. I create a sea of disorder and chaos around me. I can’t stop it. What would my life be without it? I’m addicted to this horrible mess.
“So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.” – Perks of Being a Wallflower.
This quote oddly sums up how I’ve been feeling my entire life.
I haven’t been on here for a while. Things at work are so much better. I’m feeling so good about the fact that I could have that awkward talk with a co worker, which, ultimately, changed the entire course of my job. Feeling productive at work has really transcended into my personal and social life.
I’ve finally started writing more of my book and I’m super amped about the new direction that it’s taking. My new medication has eliminated every ounce of anxiety from my life and it feels amazing. It still, somehow, feels exhausting being me.
My life feels empty. This place leaves me feeling like an apathetic body in a dark hole. It doesn’t matter how many anti depressants I take or how many times I change my medication, I think this place will leave me feeling this way no matter what. I turn into someone who doesn’t care about other people. Someone who doesn’t have another person. Have I really been kidding myself for four years? I don’t have any place in the world that I would like to be and that scares me.