Tried and tired…
Tried and failed, tired and falling. Annoying start to the day by being annoying.
People say, “reach out when you are feeling low! talk to someone! make an effort!” As long as it isn’t them you’re reaching out to when you are upset, it’s all good. Obviously, people who say that crap can’t understand what it’s like to be barely hanging on by a thread, but then reach out to someone, and be told either, “I don’t have time for you right now.” or “You’re always such a downer.”
Well NO FUCKING SHIT, friend: the reason I feel badly is because I already KNOW you don’t have time for me. The reason I don’t reach out to you is because I already KNOW I’m such a downer and I’m an inconvenience when I try to get you to hear me one more boring time.
You don’t think I know this? You don’t think I hate listening to myself drone on and on about the same old crap more than you hate to hear me whine? You don’t think it hurts me immensely that the only people who will listen are people who I PAY to listen? You don’t think I wish I could rip my stupid heart out, erase my brain, and just be an empty shell? DO YOU REALLY THINK I HAVE A CHOICE? You don’t think I’d like to live a shallow life of carnal pleasure and mindlessness and never have to think another deep thought or feel a deep feeling as long as I live?
That’s basically my dream – never think or feel again. Just be blank and have no sense of self, no care for anyone, have no feelings, no ideas, no thoughts or feelings or reactions that other people judge as “too much”.
I’m tired of being this person, I’m tired of trying to be true to myself. I’m tired of trying to be anyone at all. I’m not, obviously. None of my efforts mean anything. Nothing changes. My heart keeps breaking, my eyes keep weeping, my thoughts keep dragging me to places I don’t want to go.
Days like this, I am tired of being alive, because there’s no point. It’s misery. I can make it through the day, I guess, with intermittent crying that I hide from other people… I can smile and laugh and converse as if nothing is wrong. I can participate in all the things other people think are fun. I pretend so you don’t have to do any work or waste any time or concern on me.
Basically, I am completely aware that I’m a time sink. Best solution is to remove myself from everything so that I’m not wasting other people’s time and what life they could be using to have their all important fun. Knowing I’m no fun, I really don’t see a point in trying to “have fun” with other people, since I already know it will only be vaguely fun for any of us for a small amount of time as long as I’m around, then they start getting fake smiles on their faces and making hints about how they have to go or whatever.
Ugh, I’m so sick of being me. I’m sick of being alive, really. I am miserable about 90% of the time. I feel okay about 8% of the time, and then the other 2% is where I feel tenuously peaceful. But, I can’t just feel peaceful, I also have to be aware that I can (and will) crash at any moment. I hate it. Technically, though, that’s better than how it used to be – 75% completely emotionless and uncaring because I was intentionally suppressing everything, 25% misery.
Most of the time, I feel like I should get a Bilateral Cingulotomy. My body would still be alive, I’d still function as a responsible member of society, but I wouldn’t have strong emotions: I wouldn’t be capable of feeling attachment or longing or any kind of enduring emotional anguish. I’d be apathetic, and I wouldn’t have to waste my life remembering anything, because I’d have no interest in anything more than what existed in front of me. (This is, of course, the alternative to putting a good old-fashioned bit of lead in the head.)
I’m tired of my brain, how it works, and I know the exact part that needs to be removed. I hate this feeling of having no control over my life – no matter what I do to make a good life for myself in the objective reality, there’s always a tainting haze that comes from my subjective reality. I hate so much that I am aware of the distortion of thought, and I hate that I’m also aware that there’s just nothing I can do about it.
I am tired of trying not to be so tired of trying to be okay.