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2022-05-08 17:23:00 (UTC)

You don’t rly wanna be my lady

Fitting in and fitting yourself.

They exchanged socials. It made me think.

I can’t ever become friends with people on other platforms than the ones I meet them on because usually I end up ghosting for a while due to my own emotional issues and long lasting moods that make me unsociable. Then I end up blocking them since I’d rather they don’t wait on me just because I’m constantly falling behind and tripping over myself mentally.

Effectively ruining the possible friendship in a matter of days.

I can’t further engage with people (and “fit in”) if I don’t trying deepening friendships or acquaintances but I know that even attempting to will fail. Backfire. And send me back to square one, despite my eagerness to make new friends.

By “Fitting myself” I mean changing myself in order to suit the situation rather than trying to change the situation for myself. That phrasing doesn’t sound quite right but it can’t be helped. I’m not sure about false personas but a mf can fake a mood/tone if they try hard enough. It’s just that, I don’t know if I even really want to make friends if I’m order to do that, I have to create an entire different personality that gets people to like me. Or the me that I’m pretending to be. Especially because when I slip up, a bad day or too many thoughts to keep up with that facade, it would damage an image I tried so hard to maintain.

All for other people. What’s so good about friendships? Not like they’ll be able to fix how alone I feel at night. Or to provide what I want and need emotionally. I’m not sure even I can provide it for myself. They can’t make me feel comfortable in front of crowds and it’s not their responsibility to do so. Not their task to care for me. They aren’t my parents. All it seems to be is someone to talk to. Someone to pass the time with. Someone to go out and do something with sometimes and get help with homework. Is there anything I’m missing?

I have social problems irl. I’m too young but also old enough to be on social media, still unable to make anything out of that. My whole body is a bright red insecurity and my moods, motivation, all the teenage angst shiz is constantly wavering. All of this, of course, can be attributed to teenage hormones. Right? Oh right I have no freaking idea because I have no friends to ask and everyone my age seems to be doing something different than me. Am I so far behind that I can barely even tell anymore? No second opinions. I’m lost and my statements are not fact but delusional beliefs.


In any case, I remain alone and my mood for this day is declining slowly. My energy gradually depleting.

Right now, what I need, is not a person. A person couldn’t scratch this itch. I need to crawl out of my skin. And go somewhere else. Somewhere I don’t know. Somewhere different. If you think about it though, you’re not even in this body. Just a voice. Floating around throughout, outside?, of it. Thinking and thinking and seeing and listening. Everything. The graphics are so clear but without glasses the quality is worse. The conversations are humorous and real, listening in on them. The food is tasteless and unnecessary. One tends to eat for taste subconsciously. Why eat if you’re not hungry? Just drink something. Your body is probably thirsty. Oh and the homework. I try to think about it but my mind blocks it out. The anxiousness that comes with vividly recalling the amount of assignments on my chromebook is chilling, painful. So detachment is preferable. Relaxing with the knowledge that I’m only making things worse in the back of my mind.

I want to be an honest person. But what if I’m honestly a mean person? Then people develop a negative opinion about me, who cares, at this point nobody even knows I exist, what harm does a little hate do?

We will be home soon. I will end up in bed. In bed. In bed. And I will want to die because I have work. And I’ll want to die because I’m not doing my work. And I’ll want to obliterate myself because I’m causing my own problems.

Blades don’t do my homework for me either.

Everything is useless. Work for your success. Do I want to succeed? No. I want to leave this world. Maybe that’s why. Maybe because I’m self sabotaging for a real reason. Or maybe I’m just a procrastinator by nature and am meant to fail and die and be a waste of cells.