i'll see you on the moon
You haven’t a single idea how dreadful I feel knowing exactly what I’m doing, what I look like doing all of this, and how it reflects on who–what kind of person I am.
This is disgusting.
Everything about and surrounding me right now. What I’ve done to maintain this body and make it look even somewhat presentable. How much I need to wash these fudging sheets wtf am I doing. How my phone and computer and hands and face and probably everything is right now. How much I just want to throw this computer to the side and retreat back under my covers with the fan on and headphones to block out every single sound that reminds me that I exist in the world as this disgusting thing.
My humanity. The things, the actions, the features that make me human. All disgusting. Having to actually eat or use the bathroom or get dirty at all or speak or be conscious of all the things that I am, all to magnify the negative experience that is self awareness.
Why couldn’t it have waited until I got older to appear? Until I wasn’t in such an awkward stage where I’m constantly switching between ungrateful and frustrated to indebted and guilty and worthless.
Music soothes. It soothes and soothes and disappears when I need it most. Real life does not have background music. Real life has no clear mood, no body language I can clearly recognize, no room I can decipher properly–I'm practically illiterate- “Read the room” bro I can’t even read myself. I’m completely lost without my music to ground me in a way. Real life doesn’t feel like real life and maybe that’s the result of attempting to drown myself in media and content to forget how much I’m unable to placate my own fear to engage in real life. Falling behind, I used to fear it and now I don’t even think of it, I feel like I’m in my own losing league. Suicide has become less of a possibility of more an ending to look forward to in a future I’m unable to, never have been able to, view or picture for myself.
I can’t even look characters on a screen in the eye, I feel like I’m staring, what kind of messed up crap is this? What kind of limbo have I fallen into for me to be in such a pathetic position like this. Feeling ugly and lame and all sorts of disgusting and despicable. And even when I hide it doesn’t go away. Even alone, away from the people I thought were the source of my problems with myself, I feel like the scum of the earth. The worst of the worst. Simply for not being able to socialize. For not liking what I see in the mirror. For not being the most put together 14 year old you’ve ever seen. Why do I subject myself to expectations at all? Even after deciding that I’d be gone in a matter of years I continue to be my own tormentor, and for what?
Especially when you could just downplay the whole thing. Every single feeling and thought and cut and headache and tear and- all pushed under the umbrella named ‘Teen Angst’ and poof its gone, isnt it? Not so bad after all, huh? Just 5 more years and all these hormones’ll be out of your hair. Just suffer a few more years in this lanky, fat, disgusting, hairy, changing, female, heavy body, and then everything will be all better and you’ll even be missing these years, ha ha.
I can’t enjoy what I have! Outside of this body I hate so much. No matter what I consume, what I watch, what I play, what I listen to, what I say, what I do, what I wish for, I can’t purely enjoy it, this body lingers, in my mind, in my nose, in my ears, in my mouth, gosh I can even see it, this fat fudging nose that is always in between my eyes mocking me for adopting genes I didn’t ask for, never would have asked for. Unlucky that I can’t cope with it, I should’ve been able to, I mean self hate isn’t what we’re programmed with right?
It doesn’t matter if it matters on a larger scale, on a universal scale for all I care. Because it’s enough to impact me personally and if it affects my life, it affects the entire way I see the world. But there’s nothing I can do about it. That’s the part that always gets me and has me hiding away for nothing like it’ll do anything to solve the problem, what has me making useless vows that are only cutting out bits of my happiness for a body I don’t want. I can’t change it. Not now. Plastic surgery just feels like I’d be submitting to this horrendous piece of meat that I’m trapped in. Plus, I don’t feel like that would be enough to make me like it. I’d have to make it my own. Makeup is a pain I won’t be putting myself through learning. Tattoos and piercings are a whole other topic, however, that I’d like to experiment with.
I’m not doing enough.
I just don’t feel like anything right now. This body…I don’t know my connection to it. If my personality is simply sourced from the brain that is a part of it, if I’m a soul genuinely residing in it, or if my mind is really something completely separate from the body. Regardless, it would be a pity if I didn’t root for myself. But all I feel right now is bad for myself. Self pity isn’t productive, I know this. Being ugly is no excuse to be worthless and lazy. But I can’t help but feel that everything about me is spoiled because I look like I do. I can’t say I’m ugly. I can say I feel ugly. I can say I don’t fancy my own looks. But I can’t say I’m ugly. I can’t say I’m pretty or beautiful, or handsome or good looking at all. I’m simply human, and that’s disgusting enough for me to feel shame. I don’t like being human, I don’t like the experience. I don’t like it at all.
I feel sick. Actually, I am sick. I don’t know what I have but it’s been a pain.
Don’t feel like playing games. I’ll
Brush my teeth and put this pc back and wipe things down and read and read and sleep and read and sleep and gosh i really just cant with these false predictions im going to wake up and probably get out of bed to brush my teeth and who even cares tomorrow, rather today, is saturday adn tomorro wwe have church so im going to spend the nedxt twenty four or so hours reading some crap.