"we are not meant to contain the sadness of this world."

[graverobbing]

i wish i could remember a time when i wasn't so unhappy all the time. when i'm with other people, or at work, i'm fine. when i get home, i lose my mind. it smashes into thousands of jagged, irreparable pieces, and there's no way to put it back together. for the past two friday nights in a row, i've had plans that have either fallen through at the last minute or not materialized at all. on the outside, i'm okay with it (because really, i have to be) but on the inside i feel like a teenager who just got stood up for prom. i feel gutted. all. the. time. nothing goes right. there's always stress. i never get a break, a glimpse of sunlight in the rain, i never get it. when i'm at work, there's always something to be stressed out about that has nothing to do with my own bullshit, and i'm completely content with that. it's my own issues and my own problems that i don't want to face, but at the same time that i don't want to fear anymore. i have spent the past two friday nights driving around, tears at the backs of my eyes that won't fall, with a broken heart. and it's all over simple things. but i need other people to survive, i need human interaction to survive, and i feel above all that this isn't where i belong, for now. but when i think of where i do belong, i have no fucking idea. i'm almost twenty five years old and i have no fucking idea. am i going to stay with the city until i'm fifty? that remains to be seen. but i feel like milwaukee is stealing my soul again. i have nothing holding me here but my job. the friends i've made (for the most part) see me as disposable, the friends i've had for years (for the most part, again) could give a shit less that i'm going through all of this, and i don't have the energy to handle much more. i come home from work and want to be creative, want to make something, paint something, write something, but it never materializes. i'm a goddamn hack of a writer - i want to spit in my own face every time i say that i'm a 'writer, part-time', because fuck if i write once a week, much less once a day. i don't know where all of this frustration is coming from, but it's all spilling out onto this keyboard and screen, and i don't know where it comes from.

i've always been happy with myself. sure, a little fat and my skin's horrible, but other than that i've been happy. i feel like i have a good personality, but i feel like at this point, i'm too fucked up to let anybody else into my life, or like i have a stamp on my forehead that reads 'destiny: alone', or something of that nature. i want to be around people all the time, but i spend most of my time alone. i'm starting to realize that my biggest problem is me. my fear of what others think of my ideas, my fear of what'll happen every day. i feel like a psycho, and to be honest, at least i feel something. most of my life, i've only been able to feel the negative, not the positive. i don't know where it comes from, and i don't know where it goes to when it's not around, but it's always there. i always put myself out there for people, invite them out, things that friends are supposed to do, and i get shot down every fucking time. the rejection gets to be too repetitive, and it gets me upset, and then i just don't offer anymore. maybe i'm just supposed to have this stress on my shoulders all the time, maybe i'm supposed to feel this way. i see photos of people with their friends, and i have the most innate jealousy imaginable, because i wish that was me. i wish i knew people that thought i was as amazing as those people see their friends. i wish i wasn't so afraid to push myself out there. i wish i understood myself. i wish i didn't always feel like i was one step away from the edge. every day, i feel like i'm a step closer.

and nothing will save me this time. i feel like i have nothing left to lose.