I just realized this is it. ..
I just realized this is it. I’ll be here forever. There’s nothing more. I’ll be doing the same questions and saying the same things years from now. In the same place, maybe slightly different. This is all there is. That’s why there’s deja vu. I probably have been here before.
I want to die. Or maybe not. I think ending this cycle would be better. Instead of roaming the earth and infecting people with my confusion. I’m shocked really. That I finally know. None of this matters because I’m not moving. Not progressing. How scary.
Sleep won’t solve this one.
I’m terrified. And I’m sorry. I’ll probably forget this when I wake up, which is even more scary. Sentience is wasted on me. I hope the rest of you find meaning. Happiness. I hope they have fun. I really do. Because I’m so scared of forgetting myself. Every form of myself. Because I know I will. I’ve never been the same for more than about 5 minutes.
Now I’m stuck. No I always have been. Only now do I realize. But will I remember. Should I remember? I live a boring life and do boring things. Should I acknowledge how perpetual this state of being is? How I’m waiting for nothing. I’m scared.
I love listening to happy music. I imagine messed up scenes happening in the background. Like a tragic movie. Where the characters die while some cheery music plays. So misfitting and so perfect. I’m listening to If I could ride a bike right now.
None of this matters. I promise. Not for me, at least. None of it means anything so no one needs to care too much, just read.
I place my heart in the hands of strangers. Too sensitive. Idiotic in fact. I’m stupid. Maybe not academically. I mentally call everything I do dramatic. I think too much. I care too much. I love you and I hate you. I don’t care about you but I care about what you think.
I don’t care. But I do. But I don’t. Double think. Or simple denial. I’m in a cycle. I wear socks just to walk in the kitchen because what if I hop in bed with kitchen floor feet.
My Spotify keeps cutting out. I hate it. It’s my fault though. I still continue to go over and press play repeatedly, no matter.
People, no. My family have said I’m articulate. I take it to heart. I hate how trusting I am. I forget people can lie because I don’t do it much. I hate my gullibility. Am I naïve? I won’t know until it’s too late. Why- no I don’t care. Don’t tell me.
I hate to ramble but I simply don’t care enough to stop. I love my friends but I get annoyed when someone texts me as I play a game.
I don’t deserve anything but my standards are too low.
I hate myself but I won’t stop looking for attention. Validation. I shouldn’t have it. I don’t need it. If anything, just invalidate me. Well, I probably won’t be here once you decide to. Im lonely, but I think admitting that was embarrassing. I’m embarrassed. To exist. I’m dramatic and anxious and self conscious and hateful. I hope you think so too.
I hope you think of me as you read this, if you read this. I hope you fell into this trap of an entry, reading my dumb and meaningless thoughts. I am sorry and unapologetic all the same. I’m sorry you had to come across my existence and I’m glad I tricked you into doing it. You are amazing for reading this far, and at the same time, you are scary.
I hate everyone. And I love everyone. But they scare me. And they’re annoying. But they’re funny and endearing. But oh so intimidating. People. I need them but I’ve never liked them. Except for when I do.
I’m not indecisive. Simply confused.
My favorite kind of person. Didn’t exist. They’re all scary. I could’ve said someone who likes me but even then, I wouldn’t know, and if I did then that’s just me taking their word for it. And that’s scary. Believing people. How dare I put my trust in you. How dare I even begin to believe someone would love me? Couldn’t be me.
I’ve wanted people to take from me. Take until I could no longer give. But then, who really cares. I don’t have anything. I have nothing to provide. That’s why no one will ever come for me.
I don’t care that you think this is a long entry. I always have but it’s irrelevant. What if this is my last message?
I don’t care. It’s not my problem. I love music. And I hate it. It’s wonderful. It makes me feel. And sometimes, that’s good. But sometimes that’s bad.
I wish I was like you. Special. Content. Loved. Beautiful. Amazing. Smart. Responsible. Caring.
But I’m not. And neither is future me. Every part of me never fails to disappoint. At this very moment, I’m fighting the voice in my head telling me that I’m being dramatic because I am. I am being dramatic. Blowing things out of proportion or whatever. But that’s not my problem. It isn’t.
I love food. And I hate it when I’m full. That could be used for something metaphorical or something. When I’m full I’m disgusted by food. And myself. A toxic relationship.
I love music that sounds like summer. It makes me so happy and so sad. Music that sounds like summer sounds like goodbyes. I hate goodbyes. They’re sad. And annoyingly depressing. Goodbyes are like the end of movies. I hate those too. They make me sad, even if they’re happy.
I hate endings. Should I be happy I’m in this cycle? No.
I would’ve said something like I want to hold hands with someone right now but I’m not that bad. I don’t want to share this suffering of mine with someone. And I don’t want to be seen ever. I hate the thought. I love the original idea but not the reality of it. People are scary. And they are beautiful. Yet horrific. But amazing.
Omg coraline music.
Makes me want to go home. Not this home. But a home away from this place. The past was home. Because in the past I didn’t think. I didn’t create my own problems. I didn’t do anything. There was nothing. The blissful peace of nothingness that I did not acknowledge because I didn’t think.
I’d gotten so invested in the idea of people that I forgot, my situation that is. No, I never realized. No ones gonna read this. I’m not talking to my future self which, who cares about her anyway, also does not matter. Why am I here. Never mind, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I don’t matter. None of this matters. None of this feels real.
Because when I leave this entry, I’m gonna sleep and forget and repeat the same day again. I’m stuck and I won’t know it.
I have no reputation to uphold. Nothing to think about and prevent me from typing this up. No one knows me and I will forever be forgotten. My feelings do not matter to anyone nor the universe. Thank goodness. Is this what you guys call self pity? Not that I care. Yes I do, but I’m not telling. Leave me alone. Or don’t. Not my problem.
You will witness the ramblings of a crazy person. A lonely person. A nonexistent person. A live person. A fake person. Someone you do not know and never will know because they, I do not exist. In your mind.
Today, I did everything and nothing. It was all the same. As always. So boring.
I don’t want to go. I don’t want to disappear with this entry. Be forgotten by myself, the only one that knows me. I hate myself and I don’t want to be forgotten by myself. Great.
I hate this. So much. I’m leaving. Goodbye, everyone.