Time flies...
Blah...
So, things are going swimmingly...and not in the good sense...more like "swimmingly" in the "i just dove into an empty pool head first" sense.
It's becoming more and more simple to just say "fuck it all" again. Like the harder I try, the worse things get, and I'm falling into a giant hole I will never be able to climb out of.
I feel like there is a black cloud above my head, and that doom (the impending kind) follows me like flies on shit. But that's why there's that saying, eh? One step forward, two steps back? It's true. Nothing has ever been more true--and that's why I'm starting to feel like there is no point.
I have come to terms with death--as a matter of fact, I'm obsessed with it. Not in a creepy way, just in an over-zealous reporter sense. And because I'm surrounded by tales of dread, horror, and unthinkable circumstance on a daily basis, I figure that dying on my own accord would sometimes be a blessing.
I know I'm a beautiful, talented, kick-ass broad. I know that I have friends who care about me, a great man who loves me, a cat that is fucking amazing, and a family that is begging to reunite...however, my selfish brain won't toss the negative notion that none of it matters. I'm plagued with bills and deadlines and schedules and arguments and inadequacy and skewed self-image, and it's often overwhelming.
I've never been one to handle stress in a healthy way...usually I go into hyper-drive and "work work work work work", but these days, it seems no matter how much I write, or clean, or smoke or distract, my mind is never void of these looming circumstances.
I need a vacation. It's been too long, but that won't happen for a bajillion years. I have the time, I don't have the money.
It's lame.
I literally thought about whoring myself out for the first time today. How hard would it be to get a guy to pay you for a few hours. Boom, electricity paid, boom, water paid, boom, rent paid. It seems like a simple enough thing to do--women have the great ability to use their bodies as money makers, and sometimes I think by not doing so, i'm a tard. It would be a lot easier to spread my legs than is to sit in an office playing someone's bitch all day.
It's crazy that I haven't written in forever...I don't even like to go back and read this shit anyway...think I'll make a new journal...one I actually write in.
I used to enjoy going back and reading my old journals...usually they are hand written...but it's 2010 now, and, come on--
But recently it pains me to see the potential I had, and the reality of what I've become. I don't have illusions of a perfect life...i don't think such a thing exists. However, based on how hard I've worked in life, and the rate of success of those around me, I'm beginning to think it was all for nothing, and that I'm plain ol' cursed.
I don't work hard enough, I'm not passionate enough, strong enough, intuitive enough, determined enough or whatever....
I don't have what it takes...never will, and it's something I wish I would have noticed long ago when the black cloud of doom began inadvertently hanging above my head long, long ago.
I'm being a whiny, self-centered bitch and I know it. I'm being heartless and rude and uninspiring. However, as I sit in my dingy, smoke-filled apartment with nothing but my kitty at my feet and Alex Trebeck selling life insurance on T.V., I'm not sure there's much to cheer about.
The fact I wrote, perhaps...that's good.
Yup. I'll take that as progress and try again tomorrow...
So, things are going swimmingly...and not in the good sense...more like "swimmingly" in the "i just dove into an empty pool head first" sense.
It's becoming more and more simple to just say "fuck it all" again. Like the harder I try, the worse things get, and I'm falling into a giant hole I will never be able to climb out of.
I feel like there is a black cloud above my head, and that doom (the impending kind) follows me like flies on shit. But that's why there's that saying, eh? One step forward, two steps back? It's true. Nothing has ever been more true--and that's why I'm starting to feel like there is no point.
I have come to terms with death--as a matter of fact, I'm obsessed with it. Not in a creepy way, just in an over-zealous reporter sense. And because I'm surrounded by tales of dread, horror, and unthinkable circumstance on a daily basis, I figure that dying on my own accord would sometimes be a blessing.
I know I'm a beautiful, talented, kick-ass broad. I know that I have friends who care about me, a great man who loves me, a cat that is fucking amazing, and a family that is begging to reunite...however, my selfish brain won't toss the negative notion that none of it matters. I'm plagued with bills and deadlines and schedules and arguments and inadequacy and skewed self-image, and it's often overwhelming.
I've never been one to handle stress in a healthy way...usually I go into hyper-drive and "work work work work work", but these days, it seems no matter how much I write, or clean, or smoke or distract, my mind is never void of these looming circumstances.
I need a vacation. It's been too long, but that won't happen for a bajillion years. I have the time, I don't have the money.
It's lame.
I literally thought about whoring myself out for the first time today. How hard would it be to get a guy to pay you for a few hours. Boom, electricity paid, boom, water paid, boom, rent paid. It seems like a simple enough thing to do--women have the great ability to use their bodies as money makers, and sometimes I think by not doing so, i'm a tard. It would be a lot easier to spread my legs than is to sit in an office playing someone's bitch all day.
It's crazy that I haven't written in forever...I don't even like to go back and read this shit anyway...think I'll make a new journal...one I actually write in.
I used to enjoy going back and reading my old journals...usually they are hand written...but it's 2010 now, and, come on--
But recently it pains me to see the potential I had, and the reality of what I've become. I don't have illusions of a perfect life...i don't think such a thing exists. However, based on how hard I've worked in life, and the rate of success of those around me, I'm beginning to think it was all for nothing, and that I'm plain ol' cursed.
I don't work hard enough, I'm not passionate enough, strong enough, intuitive enough, determined enough or whatever....
I don't have what it takes...never will, and it's something I wish I would have noticed long ago when the black cloud of doom began inadvertently hanging above my head long, long ago.
I'm being a whiny, self-centered bitch and I know it. I'm being heartless and rude and uninspiring. However, as I sit in my dingy, smoke-filled apartment with nothing but my kitty at my feet and Alex Trebeck selling life insurance on T.V., I'm not sure there's much to cheer about.
The fact I wrote, perhaps...that's good.
Yup. I'll take that as progress and try again tomorrow...