(no subject)
Lately I've felt like a shell. A hollow emotionless shell. It seems like all I ever do is fuck things up for myself. I've always said it seems that whenever I start to be happy something comes along and makes me feel worse than I did before. I realized today why that is. I realized that it's because I'm always fucking up my own happiness. That makes me think. If everytime I'm happy I cause myself to feel worse than I did before I was happy, then what's the point? Why do I try to make myself feel better when I'll only gradually get worse? Why do I even try? I'm in alot of pain. Not physically. The one thing keeping me going is crumbling right in front of me and no matter how hard I try I can't seem to fix it. Every second hurts more than the last. Nothing has gone right since a few days ago. When I breathe it feels like a thousand tiny knives entering my body cutting the inner walls of my throat on the way down. I find it difficult to mutter the words of how to explain how I'm feeling. I caused this problem for myself. It's no one's fault but my own. Some people enjoy seeing me in misery. Maybe this post will make a few people happy. I can't seem to make people happy any other way. I started writing a series of short stories last night. It's made me realize how sad of a person I really am. I fear I am upon my last days of semi-happiness. I feel completely dead inside. For the first time I honestly don't see a point. I don't see a reason. 2 Weeks is still just 2 weeks. Even if it's just stretched out just a little bit more. I was a mistake. I have made mistakes. I will continue to make mistakes. I have no shame in saying that I cried 85% of the day today. I sat in the corner and I cried. I'm weak. Tomorrow the sun will come up. I hope I see light.