Ad 2:
2018-08-06 10:29:43 (UTC)

super morbid thoughts at work

"I Still Don't Know Who I Am" by Barnes Blvd.

August 6, 2018 Monday 10:30 AM

I feel as if I am in recovery from something? But then I guess I always feel either like I am recovering or I am grieving or both, and I find this really amusing in a sort of annoying way. I don't know how long it's been since I've last written. I've been struggling to escape my own body for a bit now, and I don't want to call it depression because I don't really feel depressed. My sleep schedule has not really changed except for now I sometimes cry myself to sleep and I am mildly irritable towards Goose 55% of the time.

Speaking of which, Goose disappeared on Friday. He went home, no warning, still hasn't come back. I really wish he would let me know before he did these things. Whenever he leaves unexpectedly it gives me some anxiety, like he might be dead or something, and then when I find out he just went home I think it's my fault somehow. I will not ask him to let me know, however, because all of these things seem like Me problems. Issues with my perception and not with his behavior, although some of his behavior has been grating on me lately.

I just want to be alone forever. Several times a day I have the thought that I am not fit for human company. These things Lancelot said in our last session keep echoing in my head, too. He said that most people want to get away from pain and depression, but I have a perverse desire to stay in it and observe the discomfort. He said he didn't know if it was self-loathing or what... And the more I think about it, the more I know I really really really hate myself. Like, I just hate me. I always want to leave wherever I am, but I never want to go anywhere, and that's because the only thing I really want to get away from is myself. I constantly feel as if I am hurting people, exploding my fuckups on them after sustained contact. Short phonecalls are fine, lunch is fine, occasional socalization—fine. But I am not fit for frequent exposure to other people. It is not that I think I have the power to hurt anyone irrevocably—but it is still distressing to know that I cause a lot of anxiety just by existing, just by being temperamental, just by struggling to, like, control myself. I mean, take, Liv. I know that wasn't all my fault, but my own variant moods had to have effected her deeply.

And suddenly I am remembering Isaac as well (I've been thinking about him a lot lately, just wanna know how he is and chat, but I dunno how I'd even contact him. plus I get the feeling that, like many others, he is disillusioned when it comes to me and would rather forget we were ever friends). My apathy killed him too. Isaac kind of sucked, because he was deeply dependent on me in a very unreasonable way, but maybe he had a point. I will take it with a grain of salt, but he is far from the first person to complain about my lack of affection towards others. So maybe he's not wrong.

Anyway, that's only a fraction of my concerns regarding this subject. Point is, I get the feeling—the overwhelming and irrational feeling—that everyone would be better off without me. I know that that isn't exactly accurate. I mean, some people might be better off without me, but a lot of people would be upset if I weren't around for whatever reason. Still, that seems so small in comparison to the suffering I cause—my least favorite kind of suffering, the one that is possibly imagined. That's me, that's what I inflict on people. I am my dad but worse, haha.

Warped perception, should not act on it. On the daily, I think of killing myself just to get myself to relax and laugh a little. I've thought of a way in case I wanted to do in now rather than in my 30s or something. But I feel that it really brings up a lot of questions concerning After. Like, how will my body be transported? Will it be too mangled for open casket? Will I be buried at home, my Nightmare Hometown? (Which i love objectively, but which always manages to augment whatever depression I'm feeling when I am there). Should I write, like, a will so I can be chopped up and scattered somewhere else, like a river or a body farm or—what? Will my body be too damaged for a body farm? Will my mom be okay? I don't want her to have to bury her own child. That is one thing that really kills me to think about. If I could get her to forget me, would be nice.

Anyway I am actually in an ok mood. I mean I hate thinking and I absolutely LOATHE myself (with an intensity I just really cannot describe, there is too much at once to put into a linear sentence—I just hate hate hate!) and I've been distracting myself constantly for the past 4 days but I am... salvageable? I will be fine, is what I am trying to say. I can feel it.

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