Tati

no name
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2022-11-28 00:41:31 (UTC)

I am alone

In a sense. In the sense that I’m thinking in.
I’m not alone, physically. I never am. Mentally, I tend to be alone. Emotionally, too.

There are things to do. I have to take C tomorrow, and everything else. Steal somebody’s E. Remember my lips. Return that book. Exercise? Take care of any homework. Drink some water. Sleep. Live. Ignore. Find a new obsession, I beat Zelda :(

I’m tired but I don’t want to go to sleep. I have things I could do.

I wish I could be full or empty. But I’m always hungry or sickeningly full.

My knee hurts. My hair is probably fuzzy. I want to finish that story but it feels so round about I’m not sure if there’s a point. Because they are simply what if’s and not things that have happened. It’s fake wish fulfillment.

Although there are other story prompts that don’t lead to such a feeling they’re much too *that* to really supply any contentedness. I’m hungry and tired and

My knee is numb.

At times like these I’d usually make the wrong choice no matter what. A lack of trust in myself maybe. I’m hungry. My lips are dry.

I don’t really know what I’m doing anymore, what I want to do. I’m rewatching videos. Looking for similar content for nothing. Just about addicted to time travel fix it’s that will never update ever again in my lifespan.

I can hear my breathing, feel it in my throat. I hate that. My knee and foot are burning a bit in a numb way. I don’t know.

I feel like hurting myself. But I have no tool to use. Kinda feel like a doll with its strings cut when it comes to that.

i realize recently that I don’t like singing some songs because in reality I just want to hear them but instead of fulfilling that craving, i sing it. Wrong choice.

I hate when the night comes because I become like this, wrong choices are made, i wake up slightly more miserable than I may have been had I not done whatever tf I’m doing now.

My knee.

I came here to organize thoughts, not complain.

-S, T, L, D, TT, C

She won’t get me anything on the way, I’m sure. Don’t be spoiled.

I don’t even have the energy to write or read or stay up for some show or movie. I don’t feel like doing anything. Why don’t I ever do anything good? Because i am tired and self aware.

I feel bad. But I don’t know if there’s anything I can do about it. I can hear the tapping of my fingers against this screen. I hate it. I can hear water or something, maybe a washing machine or the air conditioning. I hate that too. I can hear his tv a whole hallway and room away. I don’t mind it as much. I just wish that I wasn’t feeling this way. Everything is so repetitive it makes me want to die.

poring over my phone the entire time I’m not playing the game. I feel like death. I feel useless except for when she cared to watch. I feel I feel and I feel and I never do. I think I contemplate and i complain and I never solve. I feel so so
My knees.

I feel bad. I don’t feel sad. I feel frustrated and sick with hunger and parched and dirty.

I wonder when I reached a point where the things that I watch no longer appeal enough to make me watch them, unless I’m forced into it, trying to escape something else. I feel sick. Im hungry.

I want to hurt myself. My skin prickled. Im hungry.

I feel like I think into blank space, a void. And it is true. It is real. Is any of this real? Why do I write. Why even come up with ideas. Why consume. Or have the urge to produce. I wish tha

I hate wishing.

I feel like doing something. Anything. But I feel trapped by this feeling of not wanting to do anything. Or. Flip that around actually.

I feel like doing nothing. I’m hungry. My body is tired. My eyes are too. I feel like im about to cry. My mind is sad and frustrated like it’s going to explode into pieces of nothingness.

But I want to do something. I feel like if I don’t do something now I’ll never get to do anything ever again. I feel like if I succumb to boredom I’ll die. I’ll never have free time again. It is dark. And I feel

I feel.

I feel and I think and I want, something I cannot describe without being repetitive to the point that I throw my phone.

This is why people have routines. Ha.


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