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.


Things Don’t Change

Throughout my life I have been bullied over the way I look and how I act. I’ve gotten used to people treating me horribly and I just expect it. I guess it doesn’t seem like it affects me, because most people end up at the very end of my line of patience. I never show it though. I either laugh it off or hide in the shadows. When I tell people about my being bullied, they ask how I dealt with it. The truth is that I stopped trying to interact with people and became really socially awkward from it. I don’t really let people into my life, and even worse, I won’t let them back after they’ve left.

I’m scared of being treated the way I was when I was always around people. I would rather stay in my room and not have to talk to anyone. To me, being alone is better than being mistreated.

I do need a hug though. Hugs are nice.


I want to be inspired.

I’m not sure if it’s who I am, where I am, or if I’m just simply out of ideas; I can’t seem to write anything worth reading. Ever since I was little I was always good at putting words on paper and enticing the people who read them. Lately I haven’t even been able to speak English properly. All of my words are jumbled up, or what I say just doesn’t make any sense.

I want to go somewhere and live there for a few months and try to get inspired. It doesn’t even have to be somewhere new or far, just somewhere that could open my brain to new ideas. I guess you could say that I need to start on a blank page of my life.

xo DP