• I've been so down on myself lately because i don't know what I'm doing All this free time, it makes me crazy whenever i am alone, forced into close quarters with just myself, everything start piling up, pounding through my head I start to think, scratch too deep, about exestentialism and nihilism and life and death and sleeping pulls And then i come down to a choice i can't make about living for me where i'll feel so lost or living for them where i won't feel at all I am so scared of being ordianry or alienated but something's gotta give I eat and then i feel disgusting but i can't stop or throw up because that's such a turning point once you take the razor and hold it to your skin, you are officially that fucked up it's a threshhold that i dance on and i'm so constantly aware of how hard i am trying or how hard i am cryiung I don't know why i get so scared and hurt that i just come undone over the smallest nothing, to the point where even a minute seems to long to live through i disgust myself in the way that as i'm breaking,i think about who i could call and feel chris's name fade on my tongue because it's such a joke, such a fucking joke, that he would care enough to fix this i get so angry when i watch tv and see the beautifful words and happy endings and have to force myself to say outloud "No one will ever ever feel like that about you" just so i don't start to get my hopes up I only know how to project every need, every unflattering facet, and dump it on whoever is physically the closest what i feel for chris is repulsive, even to me, because i can see how artificial that attraction is below the surface I care for him only because i need to believe in someone, not because there is any proff there telling me i should I think it's crazy how you can never really know a person, how we can form words and convince people of feelings or a persona when really everyone is just a liar and a hypocrite I say so much about how i want to feel and see and breathe but there's also a more present part of me that just wants to be malicious and empty, to talk about tv and nothing Even if chris drives an hour to the beach,even if matt tells me he loves me, for all i know that might mean nothing at all what's inside, we keep it so hidden, everyone except for me who just bleeds insecurities since that's all i have left my hell would be conciousness in an empty room with only ice and air but no words or fake love, just the raw ache kind i'm breathing There would be no fire because burning is a way of emoting, feeling alive In the end, if i could have anything after this, i would have pure nada, nothingness,death i want to disappear from their minds, year by year until the few stories stop,so i just become some sort of impossible myth a name on the page, a flicker and fade, nothing like the sadness of a girl who knows she should be happy but just had to think too far

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