Try Hard

I am trying so hard. With everything. It never gets me anywhere. I really do not know how I can keep doing this. There really is no point. I have made myself invisible. I left school early and although I have finished, I still haven’t graduated. I cut all the ties with the people I once loved, people who were my best friends are strangers to me now. All I do is sit at home. I leave my house just to go to work or to shop. I do not even know why I shop so much. Money only buys temporary happiness.

I am alone. It is always going to be that way. I never know why I try to change that. I do not deserve to be happy. I deserve to be alone with my thoughts that consume all of the happiness I can muster up. My life is a mess, there is no fixing it now.


Looking For the Bright Side

It’s been a week. A week of thinking back about what went wrong. I need to clear my head. I just really need to be more positive. I have no passion for anything anymore. I’m trying so hard to love the things I once did, but all I’ve done is fail in loving anything. I’ve failed in every aspect of my life. I have a dead end job. I haven’t graduated high school. I haven’t started post-secondary school… I just can’t find it in myself to want to carry on in anything. I just want it to be over.


Eff This

I’m so sick of the way I feel all the time. It’s so exhausting trying to hide the fact that I’m in so much pain. I come off as cold or emotionless when I don’t mean to, and I’m genuinely apologetic to everyone who has to deal with me. I know that people put up with me because they don’t want to feel guilty if I were to end it all. The people who used to be in my life are so happy that I’ve distanced myself so far from them because the pressure is off.

I just hope that if I lose control, the people who have stuck around thus far don’t blame themselves.


Writer’s Block

I used to be full of ideas. I used to be able to write story after story and poem after poem, but now I can’t do any of that. I can’t think up concepts or characters. Nothing comes to mind. People say to write about my life. What life? All I do is sit in my dark bedroom day after day unless I’m at work. I don’t even know how I have a job. I don’t have the social abilities to hold conversations with people. And small talk is stupid. Once someone responds to my robotic “How are you?” I am out of there, practically running away from that person. When I do get a chance to talk, people only half listen or don’t listen at all.

I’m quiet because anything I have to say isn’t worth listening to. I guess subconsciously I feel that my writing just isn’t worth reading either.


I used to spend most of my time asleep.

But now I spend most of it awake in a state of confusion. I’m letting my life slip by and I have no idea how to grasp back on to it.

Five years ago I had started to let go of any ambition I had. I slowly stopped getting excited for the future and began to fear it. I’m still at that point where I clam up at the thought of answering questions about where I want to go in life. Five years ago, if you had asked me where I wanted to be in five years I would have given you a detailed answer. If you had asked me that four years ago, I would have stared at you as if you had spoken to me in Klingon.

I still don’t know where to take myself. I am no longer passionate about anything. I thought I’d be long gone by now.