LevUwU
I hate my life and the government
- Mar 16, 2024
- 190
That really says it all, doesn't it? No matter what in my life gets better, I always get worse. I met this girl and I love her so much, it's a dream to be dating her. I actually managed to not relapse for quite a while, I was avoiding harmful forums and hurtful content rather than seek it out on purpose. Yet, despite everything good that's happened, I still feel so chronically empty, so numb and ready, willing, to die. I suppose that "emptiness" is to be expected considering my conditions, I just wish anything brought me any form of enjoyment besides the misfortune of others. The keyword is enjoyment, I get enjoyment from that, but no satisfaction, no smile on my face. Comparatively, for example, being with my girlfriend makes me feel so much happiness, but I'm just completely unable to self-actualize it. Is it my lack of empathy? Is it my desire for affection? Is it my spurs of depression? I don't know. I wish I could just hurt people, that sounds cruel, and maybe it is, but there are so many people in my life I want to see suffer, and the thought of it brings me a perverted sense of satisfying pleasure. Despite that corrupted sense of entertainment, it makes me feel very cold inside. Even my quote unquote "friends" I feel absolutely nothing for. They are all just so hollow to me, they bring entertainment and nothing else, so what do I have in my life besides puppets of people surrounding me?
It's a very lonely existence, despite my cruelty. I think I deserve it.
I can't help it, I couldn't help it, so I relapsed. Again. On all of the dirty things that cause me suffering. I don't even know why, do I get some sick offing from it? I really don't know what compels me to further my own suffering when I'm so self centered. The softness in my heart has long since gone. Nothing is left inside of my soul but a weeping young girl, and her teenage self holding a knife at the world. Then, together, me.
What a nightmare! Cognitive dissonant Sociopathic BPD bitch. Isn't that a great stage name?
That's all I'm good for, that's all I ever could do while chasing the high of praise, bodily offerings. So long as enough people found some value in jerking it to me, at least I had value of any kind. That was my mindset, I suppose it was all worth it, right? I almost miss that feeling. It was never boring, at least, that hell was home. It was never enough, when is it that I'll learn that? I don't know either. The suffering of every negative thing I've done, to myself or others, is all I know, all that I can feel security anymore. Every bone in my body itches to hurt everyone around me, to be alone, secure. All the blood in my body swirls in contempt of my hatred and pain. If I could just kill that weeping child, then there would be no emotion to feel; at that point, I could finally turn the knife to myself and end it all at last.
It's a very lonely existence, despite my cruelty. I think I deserve it.
I can't help it, I couldn't help it, so I relapsed. Again. On all of the dirty things that cause me suffering. I don't even know why, do I get some sick offing from it? I really don't know what compels me to further my own suffering when I'm so self centered. The softness in my heart has long since gone. Nothing is left inside of my soul but a weeping young girl, and her teenage self holding a knife at the world. Then, together, me.
What a nightmare! Cognitive dissonant Sociopathic BPD bitch. Isn't that a great stage name?
That's all I'm good for, that's all I ever could do while chasing the high of praise, bodily offerings. So long as enough people found some value in jerking it to me, at least I had value of any kind. That was my mindset, I suppose it was all worth it, right? I almost miss that feeling. It was never boring, at least, that hell was home. It was never enough, when is it that I'll learn that? I don't know either. The suffering of every negative thing I've done, to myself or others, is all I know, all that I can feel security anymore. Every bone in my body itches to hurt everyone around me, to be alone, secure. All the blood in my body swirls in contempt of my hatred and pain. If I could just kill that weeping child, then there would be no emotion to feel; at that point, I could finally turn the knife to myself and end it all at last.
