Ugh. If I tell you not to read this, you will anyways, so I'll try reverse psychology: read this!

[jafsica]

The more I think, the deeper I fall.
These mixed feelings.
Does it really matter?
I feel unimportant.
Like what I do doesn't matter.
Even if it does matter.
It doesn't.
The more I think, everything just feels like a lie.
My entire goddamned life.
Nothing feels real.
But, I'm probably wrong, so I keep my mouth shut.
I don't want to hurt anyone.
I'm tired of hurting people.

All I wanna do is cry.
Yet often I don't.
Sometimes I can't.

And then I break down.
And hate myself for everything I can't, didn't, or don't do.
I find a washbasket or a cold, empty bathtub comforting.
It holds me. Keeps me comforted enough, yet uncomfortable, like I deserve.
I want to hide from everything.

I can feel myself breaking down.
For the past few weeks.
Sometimes, it's okay. Other times, I wish I had taken a few of those lancets from biology.

I keep trucking away at this big Organic chemistry project.
I think I can pull it together.
But I do nothing to anywhere close to my potential.

I'm probably wrong, so don't bother trying to comfort me.
I feel like a failure.