I have to admit it. I am sadder than I thought, Two days of unconsciously reversing my day and night schedule. The denial of how much I’ve slipped so far in 2018. A set of days spent with an obsession of finishing Twilight Fan Fiction because of remembering to take your Ritalin and guilt towards your mom. No more interest in Bravo or slow Jrock ballads. A Saturday of a youtube worm hole featuring Lorde related playlists and glee clips.
I am a sad person, who get scared every time she looks at the door and realizes she’s supposed to be walking through it. Scared of having to actually face the tiny tasks of entering adulthood. Or becoming actually okay with a body that feels like it’s refusing to work. To somehow become okay with the fact that after spending four years to lose weight and maintain it you are fat again. To wake up and not see the weak and rotten person you have become. To try and summon up the will to see people.
I’m just so fucking sad right now.
Even as I write this, Jake’s let me love you is playing, as tears stain the pages I originally wrote this on, and images of the multiple times in your life you’ve been molested or raped. Wondering to myself when was it exactly that I lost my virginity. Which time? When was it that I officially lost my ability to be okay with my body. To be okay with myself.
Was it when I was locked in the closet? When I was alone in my house? When I went hunting for the first time and felt happy for the animal to be part of some circle of life? Maybe it was when I spent seven years of my life only thinking about a toxic person? Maybe it’s right now, hearing this song, realizing statistically I have a dismal chance of anyone feeling that for me. That I am alone in the world. Sad. Crying. Trying for scraps to sustain some shell of a person.
Because everything about is some sort of pain or trauma. I can’t even think of something that wouldn’t be. Never being poor? I think it is a sick joke in the world that having money alone doesn’t mean much. What is it even when you don’t have enough of it to spend it constantly as a distraction.
I could literally die right now, and it wouldn’t mean that much. Because every night I go to bed worrying about how this could be my last night and how that would probably provide me with some relief in just not having to wake up the next day.
Being broken is a pleasant description for people like me. Being a sad reflection maybe being the best compliment we can get. It’s not like we are never not sick at any time in our lives. G-d, I even have to live with snotty tears since fixing my nose. Even when I tried to fix it to help me breathe better. That, and again caving to some pressures of someone else.
Man, after twenty one years of my life I just wish I’d have some root as a living person. Because sadness alone doesn’t do it. It doesn’t sustain you. It doesn’t motivate you. It doesn’t connect you to anything.
You are just sad. And that is your existence. I wish I could admit to myself or to other’s how much I need someone to say they’d love me even if I’m not loving myself. Not that I would even be able to try and find it. I’d probably just become some sick joke of going from completely untouchable to touching everything in sight. And then what I even really become? Some peephole feature in a temporary pop up art exhibit in Japan?
I don’t even know how to end this…