i describe the way i feel in a way so strange yet concise no one can decode exactly what i'm talking about nor my premonitions. all will be shrounded until you enter the selcouth.

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it’s sort of funny how time goes along whisking people up in its uncertain ways. when could it ever be certain? never. the uncertainty of every event is such chaos to contend with.

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uniqueness is such a hard thing to come to terms with. especially when it comes to music. unless you make the song yourself, with no one else knowing about it, every song is known. who cares if only 500 people know about the song? that doesn't make it any better than a larger song, just because it's "underground". i hate those who gatekeep musically, and act better than others because they have a smaller scope on music, or listen to smaller artists. there's a reason that certain artists are popular, and whether that's because they can create the perfect radio worthy pop song that appeals to the masses, or if it's based on genuine talent and skill, we shouldn't care.

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i don't think i mean anything to anyone. they keep me around so they aren't alone but at the end of the day our relationship means nothing to them. i maybe have one genuine connection. and that's even iffy. i can be replaced at any moment by someone more interesting, better looking, funnier, smarter, etc. no matter what i do, i just never seem to succeed. i always fall just a bit short. does anyone really think about me or care? am i just there so that they can look better, or feel better about themselves.

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what if i simply fall asleep, and sleep for so long that everything around me deteriorates, and it's just me, left lying on a rotting heap. my truest form, could quite possibly be rot. a simple pile of that which once was.

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do you deserve

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i talked with someone about this recently, but i don't think i've ever been anxious to talk to someone more attractive than me because in my head, i am the worst, most vile thing to walk this earth. why would anyone find me attractive? so i don't ever get my hopes up. in my mind, no one should even consider me an option, so i don't ever think they'll finnd me anything more than something to help pass the time. everyone is out of my league, and always will be. if i was tasked with scoring myself on a scale from 1-10, the task would never finish, because i can't imput a 0.

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ridiculous that i would even ponder

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i hate how violated i feel. it's as if i was standing infront of a one way mirror, being looked at. i've been as calm as i can about this, but what the fuck? why would he do this? what did i do to make him pursue what he did? i have no clue. i feel the need to cover up, to hide myself, a shield of sorts. i really really really think relapsing would be good right now. i won't, because it's been three years and i'm past that, but maybe i'm not. maybe all i need is to have the shit beaten out of me. maybe i need someone to kick me to the curb. maybe i deserve this. maybe all the things that have been going right for me were all to keep me content until this. i just want to yell. maybe a good scream would do something. everything feels as if it's caving in right now.

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i did scream. it felt good. but i didn't do enough. i need another. i just cried and cried and screamed for a bit. it was the least healthy coping mechanism, but i don't care. i liked it. i needed it

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i live and i loathe, yet consecutively i live and i prosper,to enjoy the somber colors as they mute the luster and turn it to a palpable shade

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it's a constant dwelling thought and fear, the fear that i will never be loved or have my love be accepted. i love with no bounds, i accept apology after apology, mistake after mistake, and to no avail. either i will never be enough or i give too much to those who cannot or will not accept it. i'd like to think it's the former rather than the latter. i'm too much. i am just an unlovable form, like oil in water, like two of the same magnet, a repulsive form.

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maybe it's my disposition but i hate being upset. i've been told i'm a comfortable person and a bright spot, and being upset makes me not feel like myself. it makes me feel like i've regressed. as if i hadn't grown at all, i was cut back down. it makes me nauseous and i hate myself more than ever. i'm not me when i'm upset. i'm not me when i'm sad. when i'm angry. it's like i'm somewhere else. i hate confronting my own actions when they only affect me. if i'm only hurting myself, why address it? it doesn't hurt anyone else, it's fine

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the present moment is both eternal and inimical, our actions have sequela for both ourselves and others.

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it's so hard. loving you. knowing you're not there. ringing the doorbell. waiting to give you this gift. when you've been gone for months.

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(this was written in 2022.) let me tell you a little story. i have a cat, his name's toby. i love him so much, more than anything or anyone. i got him because i needed a companion, something to distract. he's really what's keeping me here. i got him so i wouldn't kill myself. but it's getting harder and harder. maybe someone else could take care of his and love him the way i do. i don't know if it's possible, but maybe. right now, he's sleeping on my bed next to me. does he know? how much he means? i feel if he did, he'd feel burdened. i just love him. even if i can't take care of myself, his life depends on mine. it's the most selfish aspect of my life.

an elaboration. i cannot go, he needs me. this being, is bound to me. by a sort of contract. i cannot leave, just because i feel i have no purpose or meaning. he relies on me, and that means something to me. if he didn't need me, i think i'd have left long ago.

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i have this feeling of hollowness today. it's been like this for almost a week. i can't even cry. it's something indescribeable. imagine if you were dunked into a tank of breathable fluid, the same temperature as your body, and you just sat there, unable to move, and the only corporeal organs you have are your heart and lungs. you cannot leave, struggle as you may. you cannot cry, as you have nothing. that's what this feels like. i feel as though i'm nothing but a walking organism. i can't tell if i'm feeling anything or if this is truly it. i loathe this feeling. i hate feeling, but i would rather feel something than this numb corpse.

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maybe someday i'll organize these pieces, but i think it's better if they're scatttered. anyways, i want to dwell on something. i think i am both excessively self aware and toxically unaware. i know i have anxious attachments, and i'll have them until i go to therapy, or learn to talk about them. i always fear the worst, that if someone didn't respond they've found someone better, that they hate me, etc etc. it's awful. i live for communication, i love understanding, yet i never let anyone understand me. i never talk about this because i know it's negative, and as egotistical as this is i don't want to be seen negatively. i think if i just asked the imuplsive questions that plague my brain, i would feel worse yet better. example piece: recently i asked something a little out of place, because it was on my mind. they saw it and didn't respond, and i was plagued with this influx of questions, and it always leads me to assumption, which i hate. and now in my mind, i've assumed they hate me, and once i see them they'll scowl at me. maybe it's a coping mechanism so i don't get hurt. but getting anxious, having my mind race, it sucks. i just want to for once, assume something alright. maybe they just don't care, maybe it's just not a good time. i don't know. i just get wrapped up in this machination i've created, and it makes me sick. physically, mentally. it all crumbles when i'm anxious.

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i think sometimes my love for things is just a little too strong. i love small things, cats, flowers, trees, mushrooms, stars, etc. if i see them i love trying to tell those around me what their names are, or like with cats and dogs, i say hello and wave at them. (unless the dog is one i see while it's with its owner. then i say nothing because it's weird? at least to me.) i love remembering the names of stupid common flowers and plants, and telling people key facts about them. it makes me feel like a fun little tour guide. i think i'll start asking the people around me if they mind me doing that. i feel really shitty for never asking. i've probably been bothering them. shit.

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the fruits of desire have rot between her teeth, and leave her with nothing but a disgusting mess beyond use.

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i hate having the urge to care for everyone. even if they never reciprocate, i still care. though sometimes i just want to be cared for. the thing that makes me feel most loved in this world is when other people genuinely listen to me and remember things about me, or they remember memories we have together. something about it just makes me feel so....happy. maybe they don't care for me, or the same amount as me, but it feels just as good.

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yet why? why does everything seem to crumble in my palms like the most fragile of chalk? but so it does, though i do not feel it was deserved, the passing of time seems to disagree, as i watch the dust seep away from me.

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things could get much better, but they could get worse, as the endless abyss of apathy and despair opens to swallow whole, and leave but a husk, a shell of what once was, with not a shred of empathy nor any feeling, a distaste like metal in the mouth for that which is found to be enjoyed, and for everything which isn't neccesary to continue this form, as some sort of hole is filled with a longing for what will never be had.

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but as always, history repeats itself, an unsatiated worm feeding off of its own demise,

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you are like the sunlight that falls through leaves

it doesn't matter how hard i try, or how much effort i put in, i will never be enough. no one will ever see me as anything beyond something to make themselves look better. i'm always left out of the joke, the last to know, the only one still at home. it's never mattered. i've never mattered. not to the world, not to my family, not to friends, the ones i think i may actually gain some semblance of meaning from. i just cannot fit in right with anyone. the closest thing i have is maybe one friend. even then, i feel if i left they could replace me. i am just never right. the gates of desire will never open before me, and i will never see what i want. security and meaning. words of far and few, ones i will never know. it's just not for me.

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i am pathetic.

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i can’t wait to move out. not because i want to be an adult, but because i can't wait to not be belittled, or given no respect. i can’t wait to never interact with you, and only visit on holidays, and say nothing to you. i’m not someone who likes being vengeant but i can't wait to see just how bothered i can make you by not giving you the time of day, or interacting with you at all. after all, what reason do i have to give you anything? do you deserve my glance, my touch, my respect, my voice? no. you bring me so much anger that at this point it’s just funny. “why can’t I touch you?” because you made it something i fear. a hand of force, of a rope tied around my wrist. because it’s not something i want. i used to want a relationship with you. so i could feel "normal". but you’re never going to change, and even if you do, you’ll never apologize for what you put me through. for the trauma, for the pain, for the tears. i’ll never get that, and i understand that now. you hate owning up to your actions more than you hate being wrong. so when you wonder why you know nothing about me, or what i want to do, what my favorite color is, what i like to do, what i'd like for my birthday, don’t blame your job. there’s no one to blame but yourself. you might be thinking that mom wasn’t that great of a parent either, yet i have a great relationship with her. that’s because she apologized. she knows how to talk to people without belittling them. i don’t know if you’ve ever treated me with respect. so why would i ever visit you? you’ve ruined so much for me. beer, food, being full, being hungry, car trips, being hypocritical, sharing my feelings, being visibly upset. i can’t believe you ruined my own emotions for me. it’s just so frustrating when i get upset and i'm too afraid to tell anyone because they’ll laugh at me like you have.

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something about summer just makes me want to kill myself. no matter how much i busy myself, i get home and it all comes back. cool! unlike a summer breeze. right?

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and it makes me look like a whore

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an obstreperous lull, asking to be sundered by a cry for help.

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sometimes i have thoughts that are just baseless. and i can't write about them because it's just "you're ruining everything, just stop being" and that's not cohesive, or put together in the slightest. i am much too anxious sometimes, and someday i will fall prey like the last leaf on a tree in november, to be forgotten just as quickly as i was remembered

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(this is an old rant, but the feeling still applies.written circa..early 2019?) i hate having self confidence. it truly has made me feel worse about my image. some days i'll wake up, and have a boost of confidence and wear what i like the most. and the second someone comments on my outfit//appearance i regress and become self conscious. i want to have the confidence and the ability to wear things that i like, without feeling the pressure to fit in. it hurts me when i look at my closet, full of things i like, and choosing a pair of jeans and a sweater to wear, instead of a lovely vintage set. i dress vintage because it makes me happy. i have never dressed to impress anyone , and i haven't ever dressed to get anyones attention. i want to dress in old t shirts and high waisted jeans, but my mind won't let me. my mind strives for a perfect look to blend in with everyone. there must be some evolutionary mindset that im stuck in. the mindset of blending in to avoid being hunted. my mind must think that when i wear vintage things, i look like a giraffe in a herd of zebras. i stand out too much. a hoodie and jeans is being a zebra in a herd of zebras. lack of confidence is what causes everyone to be so similar. it hurts me when someone stares at me when i dress vintage. i just wanna be myself, is that too hard to understand?

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sometimes it feels

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do you know how hard it is

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and yes maybe i fucked up

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he ruined sex for me. made it into something i can't understand. sex is now nothing but a to do list, something i'll not understand unless i'm told what to do. it's feeling less. it's cold, and i don't like it. it's plastic, it's fake. it's being used and recycled, and not cared for. he never once made me feel good just to make me feel good. it was always to his gain. and now i fear i'll never have sex, out of fear i don't know what to do. out of fear i won't make my partner feel good. not out of fear that maybe i won't feel good. but that i'll let them down. it felt like playing a game. one that i never win at. one that i only ever lost, and had to give. the night he did what he did, never once did i say yes. never once did he ask. never once did it feel ok. it's tainted my ability to tell people no. i've never felt so used. i never want to have sex again. no. of course i fucking do. but it's so poisoned and tainted in my mind that actually going through with it repulses me. there's so many things i'll never get back from that, but what he couldn't take was my virginity. i've re-defined it. it's not just having sex. it's making me feel good, just to make me feel good. not to gain anything from it, but just so that i feel good. it's not fair for me to do all this work, and get nothing in return, yet feel fine. it makes me so angry looking back. all i got was the worst makeout sessions for 5 minutes, and then sex. meaningless sex. i was emotionally and touch starved, and he knew that. he fucking knew that. i'd ask him if he liked me. if he loved me. because i needed to hear that. it wasn't sex. it was an emotional feeding, a way for me to stop hurting. there are so many times that now looking back, were probably rape. i have them glorified in my brain right now, but as time passes their shiny gold exterior will fade. so many times he begged for me to do things, or to let him do things to me, only for me to give in because "he loved me". i'll never speak to him again, and i never want to.

exegetic piece for the clarification: it has changed. in the years that have passed i have told those closest to me. i look back now and i shudder, disgusted. i was 14. and yet i wanted to be so grown up. was it worth it? now i consistienly fear intimacy because i'm used, soiled, ruined. and yeah, most of what i did was because he never stopped asking, and no matter how hesitant i was, or uncomfortable, i just went with it because i didn't want to be abandoned. also. she will never know. but that's for a different piece of writing. the rose has bloomed, and the chapter closed, without a word being read aloud.

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will what i do ever really be seen or will it just be passed by for something else

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why does everything i like always somehow manage to make me feel worse in the end? it's almost as if liking things isn't quite positive at all.

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judgemental people make me unbelieveably confused and angry. what's the point in judging someone else's situation or relationship? it's stupid. if you have to make judgements, keep them to yourself. i get increasingly angry when those i'm friends with are judged publicly. why even tell me my friends "look like potential school shooters". is it because we aren't popular? what makes my friends look that way, to you? because to me they're lovely. why joke and jest, making fun of my friends and saying they probably paid me just to hangout with them. because they aren't the most talkative? silence with comfort is a gift, and just because i treasure that and don't feel the need to say anything doesn't mean i'm uncomfortable. good god.

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i could talk about another i suppose. he was someone who i cared for a millenia it feels. 4 years, and an endless amount of wretched feeling. i think he's the first person i thought i really loved. but that love was simply a face of his, a side i refused to look away from. he took so much from me, and in all honesty, i still fear he's out there with pieces of me. i genuinely wanted to help him. he wanted to make me into what he desired, a drug addicted, sexually driven, absolute opposite version of myself. and i gave in, as i thought it would help. maybe seeing me be so willing to do as he wanted would make him feel as if he owed me, and he could finally get himself help. spoiler, he never did. i don't know where he is now. he used me to his heart's content, and all i wanted was to help him, and maybe be his. because he made me laugh sometimes, and i really, really liked him. and as always, i am but a step away from the gates of desire when a wave of wrath and agony engulfs me. that was what i consider the begining of his end. a few weeks after that, he wanted me to do drugs with him, and i refused. a different response, potentially shocking. he took the last bit of my humanity, and that was when i had to go. then, it crumbles. he told me he was going to overdose. kill himself. and i cried, cried, called him so many times. because i cared. and lost so much sleep, self respect, and time. he comes back. he didn't die. he fell asleep. and yet, in this state, he has the audacity to ask for me in my most raw state. i left. i wrote a paragraph or two, saying i would always care but i couldn't bear to be surrounded by him or his friends, let alone his actions or way of life. that was for the best. sometimes i still think about if i had never said no. who would i be? a problem? someone i despise, somehing that is anathema (thanks.) to myself? truthfully, i do think about him sometimes. but not in the way i used to. in a way of disgust, and relief. i do wonder if he's ok, if he ever got help. but there is nothing in me that makes me even want to consider saying a word to him. he would just be as he always was, someone who made me hate myself, and yet was conforting and enabling.

sometimes i lack the motivation to even go on because the stresses of life get to me, and i think about the future, knowing full well the stress will only worsen. i'm not suicidal, but it'd be better just to not go on

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sometimes i look

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this encroaching feeling keeps washing over me. that i'll never be enough, and never be loved. i just want to feel like i'm enough for once. i get so anxious that i'm doing something wrong, and every little action always butterflies out of propotion in my mind. does it ever stop? it hasn't so far. i just want to be told that i'm enough, and that sometimes it's ok to be not enough because being perfect constantly is inhuman. yet i cannot say these words to myself. nothing positive i say to myself really means anything. because it's selfish. i'm just selfish. i want all this love and yet i cannot give myself any. who am i to ask others to open their hearts to me, when i cannot open my heart to myself.

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on the subject of not going on, after a major depressive episode i'm so in the mood that it's bad. why? why does it have to be this way

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i think assumption is ohe of the most selfish fallacies of human nature. assumption is based on what you the individual see and percieve in a situation. any skill that only uses the mind of one is a flaw, in my mind. "he was flirting with me!" "they looked at me weird, they hate me!"it's all in your head. it's selfish to assume they flirted with you, in the same vain that it is to assume they hate you. it's ridiculous. and yet for the first time i asked something based on an assumption, and i feel a fool. i hate assumption, it always gets the better, and either boosts the ego or deepens the woes. there is no in between, there is no neutral assumption. you assume it in a way that benefits you.

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i sort of wish i felt more negative emotions so that i could have angrier rants again. i envy those who can convey their negative emotions with such power and force constantly. i'm just not always upset. usually i'm just here, sort of ambling along. never usually too extreme in terms of my emotions.

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don't let me make

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i really shouldn't let this get the best of me yet it already did before i even wanted it to

sickness

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i really need to stop writing late, it's so taxing. i always end up crying with a headache. i hope to one day stop writing, to just say something to someone, but that's a pipe dream, and i know it. i know i simply am not capable. i cannot even open my mind to the idea that someone would love me. i am stubborn in a few ways. i try my best to be open minded, but there are things i will not change for. the idea that anyone sees me as attractive beyond my body is one of them. i am but a use, an outlet. never anything more. the thought that maybe someone genuinely could love me one day, in a reciprocal way. i have never experienced recoiprocation, and will always be hopeless, my story will end the same way it started, alone. third, that i am interesting to others beyond my uses. i'm not, am i? does anyone really want to know me, or do they put on a front to get a use out of me? i am unchanging and stoic in those thoughts. unless somehow, something.

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a preface for the piece below. the "she" mentioned is the one who was to be told things, so i could bloom. any use of the pronoun set she/her used in the next writing is about her.

this is going to be a long piece. i want to talk about the version of myself that some see me as, and how it's a version of myself i wish to erradicate. my friends who knew me before i moved knew me as a pot smoking, margarita sipping, depressed kleptomainac, who tried too hard to show off, was annoying, and "lost her virginity" (prefaced.). and yeah some of that stayed the first year i moved away, but it's gone now. i'm not at all that. i'm a clean, uncomfortable around alcohol, almost entirely asexual, depressed quieter girl, who hates the idea of being under a spotlight, and preffers being at home gaming, or being in the company of a small friend group. i maintained one thing through my move and that was being depressed. everything else is different. from the way that i dress, to my voice, hell even my thought processes and feelings. here's where things get complicated. "she" still sees me as the self before my move. i have seen her multiple times over the years through visits, yet even though i've told her of my change, she treats me the same. she wants to smoke weed, wonders if i want some whiskey or vodka, and says we should watch something i haven't liked in years. it's so uncomfortable. i don't maintain the comfort i used to with her, and i just get anxious. besides the point. i've cut nearly every tie i had with her, except for her number. so if it's really an emergency, i'll be able to say something. don't get me wrong, i care for her. she was there for me during some of the hardest points of my life. she just can't seem to let go. that issue runs deeper than you think. you know what? i was going to stop here, but i want to continue. she and i were bonded through trauma. she wanted a relationship with her mom, and i wanted one with my dad. that was our mutual trauma. as you know i gave up on that. it's pointless to give so much and get absolutely nothing back but more pain. and she can't see this. it's been what, like 5 years? i cannot understand it. she can't move on. and now that i've moved on, we share nothing in common. and in all honesty, letting this go was the best thing i could do. i stopped letting things bother me, and started acting when they did. do i feel bad? a little. OH! (never capitalizing again, don't get used to it.) god, i write so non-linearly when i'm tired. want to know how this all started? how this beast of gracious opporotunity came about? during a breakdown i had, she had said i could tell her anything. so i told her. i told her i relapsed, and that it made me feel disgusting and awful. and to my dismay (at the time. now i feel blessed) she said nothing. for four days. after i was transparent, completely clear. and her excuse was the dumbest thing i'd heard. "my message didn't send!" here's why this doesn't work. 1. it's an imessage, you get a notification when a text doesn't send, and there's a little "!" on the app itself. i'm not stupid. 2. you posted multiple times on your story, every single day. you had service. anyhow. i said something along the lines of "okay" and was upset. i got petty and didn't respond, because why would i? i felt awful and she made me feel foolish. a couple days pass, and she texts me "if you don't respond soon i'm gonna text your mom". are you serious? what are we, 8? "if you don't play with me i'm telling your mom!!" so i respond, i say something along the lines of "it's best for you if we aren't friends, i'm no good for you" (i could never tell her i don't want to be friends. absolutely antithetical to me. i'm in the wrong, not them) and it has been quiet since. i'm content. it means i can finally rip that part of me off, i don't have to pretend i like those things anymore. as the time passes, the rose blooms again, but this time from a new branch, in a new, more beautiful color, with a scent as unforgettable as time passing.

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on the topic of negative emotion rants: most of the time i just get into a state where i look at my ceiling, and just think. and most of the time it's this feeling of "oh fuck, i don't remember why i'm going on with living!! do i really have a purpose, or am i just a vessel designed to continue the existence of my species with no moral conciense whatsoever!!" (read that in a 1990's telemarketer voice, please) and it's just an hour or two of this and then i pass out, and the cycle goes on. maybe i'll stop it someday. for better or for worse, right?

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it's not even like i'd use these words

there's so much i could say to those i care for. appreciation, annoyance, really just anything of depth. but depth is fearful, and allowing them to trudge the depths is a risky endeavor, one not worth the risk. i cannot be the one to say what i want, it is so saddening to think that what i want to say could just be seen as something of fallacies, a lie, never true. but if i hid it away for so long, why would i lie? what reason would i have? you've already swam, why not look under the surface to see what lies

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i dislike my voice so so so much. i feel so masculine and awful whenever i speak too much. i used to practice voice feminization because i hated it that much. though it felt weird, even though i know it's for anyone, it's aimed at trans women, and i'm not that. dunno. felt like i should just be happy with what i have because i was born a woman. what a strange complex to have. either way. i think i'll reserve my thoughts a little more.

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keeping with the theme, leave the slightly positive note at the bottom. i struggle a lot with self inadequacy, as seen above. i cannot ever see myself being good enough for someone. even if they told me flat out, i would never believe it. because, couldn't they just lie to make themselves look better? anyhow. these days i feel a little more alright. someone close was open, and i was as well. we have such similar takes, sometimes it's just a little strange. but i like it. i enjoy strange.

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i think i mesh well with people who don't care as much about me as i do for them. it gives contrast, and makes me feel more loved when they actually care. i'm a person who can't help but love those who surround me. there's definitely levels to it, and there are a few people who i love more than anyone in this world. if you're reading this, you're them. i love you more than anyone, more than anything, to the edge of infinity and back.

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so, now you've made it to the bottom of the abyss. want to take the elevator home?