Mad Ramblings From a Blithering Idiot
It's been nearly two years. I find I can't do this any
more. I live too much inside my own head to be able to
write anything about how I really feel about any subject.
My life consists now of only working. I've lost everything
I love due to weirdness-either circumstances or my own. I
hate myself and my cheap imitation of life. Slitting my
wrists looks more beautiful every day.
I write about work on myspace. It's all I know and all I do
and I'm not even good at that. I am an idea-less automaton
that only feels despair, apathy, and anger for all matters.
I have no hobbies, no loves, no passions. I have
ceased to be a human. I don't who or what I am any more. I
used to have a picture-not a portrait-of who I was in my
mind but now I have no idea. I'm not a good friend because
I prefer my own company. When I'm with or talking
to "friends" I only wish I was somewhere else or I
fantasize about chucking my phone out the window. I feel
loneliest when I'm with people.
I have no passions. I feel strongly for no one. Not my
family, no man, and no creature gets much sympathy from me.
I see the years stretching before me, full of apathy,
cigarettes, and mediocrity. At least I have cancer to look
I have no passions. How can someone go on with nothing to
live for? I am nothing. I am a shell. Am I a sociopath?