no name
Ad 2:
2022-09-12 19:58:00 (UTC)


I try so hard to get away from school work, struggling the whole time. But then when I get that free time I wanted so bad, I don’t feel like doing anything. Not texting friends I said I’d get back to. Not eating, although I’m not hungry, haven’t been since like midday but that didn’t stop me from asking for food I don’t need, wasted. Not reading. Not watching actual tv. My eyes…

I wish I could do something with my time that felt meaningful without requiring effort. Like spending time with someone. But I don’t have anyone like that, physically. I don’t wanna be around family right now. I’m tired but I don’t want to waste all this time I have :(

I have so many things I could be doing. That I want to do. But it seems I’m the best at simply working, sleeping, and showering. Can’t schedule anything because I seem to set myself up for disappointment by not doing it.

I wish that. I wish I never learned to wish for more. Life is so bland when you don’t feel like doing anything.

Problems that I have with things. And whether or not I want to do things. And all that which I consume regularly. And all the things I’ve found and have yet to find. And all the people I won’t meet or talk to. And all the entries I’ll ever make. All such little things, experiences contained in my life. This life I’m living.
What am I even living it for?
To try my best to go to heaven just to live longer? And if I don’t go there, it’s hell, forever. I wish I could just die. Die forever and that be it. But I have the unfortunate fate of having an eternity. I don’t want to be here. I didn’t ask to be trapped in a slowly progressing death trap.

All I have are temporary things all around me to give me short lived fulfillment. Confidence is nice and all but that doesn’t change the fact that I have to live life. I don’t want to eat or feel hungry. I don’t want to drink or feel thirsty. I don’t want to drink or get dirty. I don’t want to talk and feel nervous and I don’t want a body and insecurity.

Am I really just a medium? Just eyes and experiences that only I will ever care about at all. I’d feel small comfort if I knew there were someone on the other side, watching what I see from behind a tv screen or something. But I’m alone in this. I’m alone to experience. I’m alone to think up all these things that won’t ever be and won’t ever matter. Even this entry will be lost. My journals will deteriorate with time. My ring and my phone and my computer and this blanket and my home and my family. All so insignificant in the grand scheme of life. My life, where they are so significant, is but a small thing, microscopic and fleeting. I am nothing.

Would it even matter if I left an impact or memory with anyone? They’d forget or they’d die the same way I will and it will never matter. What’s the point.

A face. Something easily forgotten. A body. Something easily replicated. A personality interests hobbies location desires dreams fears needs schooling dislikes. All so very very forgettable. So meaningless. An insult an insecurity a coping mechanism a bad memory a joke a mistake a bad grade a bad mood. What of it? Forgotten or never known at all.

Do people latch onto everything that matters to them as tightly as they can? So they don’t fall into a depression leaving them incapable of functioning. No family no hobbies no dreams no interests no wants no friends no love. Just an existence. Then what? You exist and you exist and you drag yourself through countless days until suddenly, it’s all over. And it starts again in a burning pit.

Maybe people tell you to focus on what matters, that which is dear to you, because if you don’t. If you don’t keep it close and nurture it, it’ll disappear. And life itself is meaningless if you don’t let things impact you. If I don’t let these school kids get on my nerves and make me all jittery, I wouldn’t get to experience sadness and exhaustion and nervousness and heart palpitations or stomach churning and shaking hands.
If I didn’t let my family affect me and accept their loving, I wouldn’t get to feel comforted or wanted or loved or belonging.
If I didn’t allow myself to be inspired by random art posts on the internet, I wouldn’t have a sketchbook in progress or journals at all. Oh right I did want to become ambidextrous. And make that mystery sketchbook collage. And fill out another diary journal thing. I also wanted to put the song I was currently listening to at the top of the page. I also wanted to finish learning Spanish and work on French one day in the future. I want to

But I’m tired. And I wasted my time.
This is only one day. There will be other days to do things.
I hate planning activities. But I never end up doing the things I truly want to do. Too overwhelmed by choices. Too tired at the prospect of any of it. Doubt for my own ability to do it. Im so tired I feel like crying.

I don’t want to be a person. I want to be a list of actions. A list of views. I want to be a record of a life. I want to be a memory. I want to be a single pinpoint. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to eat. I don’t want to feel. I just want to do. I want to smile. And laugh. And know things will be fine because none of it matters anyway. But I’m so tired. And I know I’ll be out of it in the morning. But I. The me of right now. The me of every evening on a school day. Is very torn up about how I spent my day.

I want to act. I just want to be a dashboard camera. Nothing more. Just a result of some parents. And it is all I am. I’m a camera. And all the things I see have nothing to do with my simple coding and purpose of observing.