I feel washed ashore. Like everything I'm supposed to care about doesn't matter anymore or that, everyone is giving up on me. I'm sick of being here sometimes. It's like, I'm in this hell hole that I can't crawl out of. Nothing really helps anymore. And, since my camera broke or isn't working right, I cannot take pictures. It's driving me up a fucking wall. I suppose I should just edit pictures then, but, why bother? I just don't feel up to it and the process it takes just to edit them.
Every little thing I try to find to distract myself has been falling apart. Watching T.V. Cooking, cleaning, listening to music, working more, walking around the neighborhood. I just realize, I am a sad girl trying to escape what I will never get away from.
I know change happens but I guess I didn't want this. I didn't want this big change to happen. My parents are falling apart, they did a long time ago. And, I've known this for so long but never actually expected it to happen. All I can feel is sorrow. And, I guess I shouldn't anymore. But this is natural right?
And my fucking stomach can't stop rumbling while I'm trying to be fucking sentimental.
Why are you so angry? That's what so many people who will read this would say. I'm so fucking angry because of all the shit I'm going through. I can't begin to explain it to you and let's just face it, I won't. I have a whole big, fucked up dysfunctional family and you don't even know the half of it. Maybe I should write a book about it just to get back at them or so the world can see the shit I've put up with or seen.
I have nobody left to anger. Everyone has been angry at me, even myself.
I feel like throwing up. Maybe I should develop an eating disorder. And that would be just fucking perfect. Why am I ranting and raving like this? What did the world do to deserve it? Oh no, here I go being a pessimist again. I don't care.
I have cried too much and I'm sick of it. I've prayed too much and I'm sick of that too. No matter how good it makes me feel, it always makes me realize how fucked I am in the end anyways.
I've been thinking for years now, why I'm even alive and what the hell the point of it all is. Who doesnt? But, I can't find reasons anymore. And, I'm such a coward, that I cannot kill myself, end my miserable existence. Why? Because so many people love me and want me around? They need me? Does anyone really need me? Does anyone actually depend on my life to save theirs?
I've been writing for as long as I can remember and most of what I write is painful. All of it, has so much pain in it. And I think to myself, that this must be Hell, mixed with a fraction of Heaven. I didn't do anything to deserve this shit. I didn't rape anyone, I wasn't a child molestor or petophile, I didn't steal, I didn't kill anyone. Don't people like that deserve to suffer this much?
Why is that? The "good" suffer so damn much and the "bad" get off scot free?
Some fucked up law of karma there. Karma must be drunk.
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Comments
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I'm kinda glad this isn't done.
That means, hopefully, you'll be around to finish it, in like, maybe, 30 years or so. Then you'll be able to see life from an entirely different perspective.
A lot of this sounds (too much) like my life at the same age. I can tell you from my own altered perspective, it will look much, much different. Not necessarily better, but at the very least different.
Keep writing, and don't give up. Somebody out there, maybe someone you've never met but will in the unknowable future, really does care.
Something a friend once told me. As soon as you realize you've dug yourself into a hole, the first thing to do is throw away the damn shovel.
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