(no subject)
My own impulsiveness has led me to absolute despair again. I've destroyed the chance of friendship with Joe. My clinging to this long-dead relationship is another disturbing sign of how truly crazy I have allowed myself to become. My fixations are a daily embarrassment. I suppose I built all of the disasters of the past two years unto that one relationship and thought that, if I could save it, I might validate that I'm not utterly ineffectual and terrible. This final failure is staggering. It feels like a physical blow. I am utterly unloved.
I've spent the past four days in bed unable to muster up the energy to get up to shower or even go to the bathroom.
Ironically, during my one outing boys seemed to gravitate towards me perhaps because I have descended back into some churlish teenage eating disorder. The rejection of food becoming symbolic of penitence. I don't want to look good. I don't want to make myself attractive. Indeed, I want to starve away any pampering of this feeble mind and body. I want to shave my head. I want scars lining all of my skin so that people will know that I already understand how despicable I am. They can all stop telling me. I am already acutely aware of my own worthless existence.
Suicide seems like an increasingly appealing option in a pattern of behavior that seems utterly irreversible to me. I wish I'd died a few years ago when I was still a person with some worth, morals, or integrity. How did I descend to this point? How can I even pity myself when I am, in every way, the architect of my own destruction? Still, I must still have some faint replica of hope or at least the idea of atonement because I keep myself alive by rebelling against the thought of dying now in such a pitiful, unenlightened, wretched state.
Still, the degree of this pain amazes me. I have truly lost everything I love. My dog is dead, Joseph hates me, Cecile is gone from my life for transgressions we share, Maura and Hunter are caught up in the mechanics of each other and were never truly solidified in my life anyway, Christina has returned to her abusive ex-boyfriend who wants me dead...
I pray to God for mercy, for truth, for him to replace the terrible things inside of me with righteousness. But he is impassive. His face is kind but remote. He blinks down from the moon.
I am so hollow. My bones have become aqueducts to carry sadness.
I've spent the past four days in bed unable to muster up the energy to get up to shower or even go to the bathroom.
Ironically, during my one outing boys seemed to gravitate towards me perhaps because I have descended back into some churlish teenage eating disorder. The rejection of food becoming symbolic of penitence. I don't want to look good. I don't want to make myself attractive. Indeed, I want to starve away any pampering of this feeble mind and body. I want to shave my head. I want scars lining all of my skin so that people will know that I already understand how despicable I am. They can all stop telling me. I am already acutely aware of my own worthless existence.
Suicide seems like an increasingly appealing option in a pattern of behavior that seems utterly irreversible to me. I wish I'd died a few years ago when I was still a person with some worth, morals, or integrity. How did I descend to this point? How can I even pity myself when I am, in every way, the architect of my own destruction? Still, I must still have some faint replica of hope or at least the idea of atonement because I keep myself alive by rebelling against the thought of dying now in such a pitiful, unenlightened, wretched state.
Still, the degree of this pain amazes me. I have truly lost everything I love. My dog is dead, Joseph hates me, Cecile is gone from my life for transgressions we share, Maura and Hunter are caught up in the mechanics of each other and were never truly solidified in my life anyway, Christina has returned to her abusive ex-boyfriend who wants me dead...
I pray to God for mercy, for truth, for him to replace the terrible things inside of me with righteousness. But he is impassive. His face is kind but remote. He blinks down from the moon.
I am so hollow. My bones have become aqueducts to carry sadness.