countingclocks
Member
- Feb 21, 2023
- 16
Sorry I never respond. I'm realizing I cannot connect in any form, even briefly. Everything hurts me. I'm a sensitive loser. Still, I always hope someone relates to where I'm coming from so I feel less alien. Selfish, I know. Anyway. I've struggled to connect, nonetheless "click" or truly love anyone else my whole life. I feel like a blip in the fabric of the world more than a real person. Others pick up on this. I'm super lucky, I'm noticing more and more sores on my body and odd pains. I hope this means I'm dying. As long as I've been conscious I haven't wanted to live. Every scarce moment of hope has scared the hell out of me. I'm drunk tonight, as I am virtually every other night, to try to distract myself from knowing I may as well not exist in the living world. I go about, "functioning" realistically enough, but people detect my insincerity. The reaction from others ranges from dislike to pity. I put my best foot forth, and it's read as a mangled hoove. I'm drunk because I'm the only person in this world who can be warm to me. And this is the only way to get there. I wish I could pull a trigger without doubt, I wish I could access pills without my unsteady illusion crumbling without repair so I could overdose. Every plan I make is unrealistic and overly elaborate. I'm excited seeing my body seems to be getting sick. I can't wait until it, my last bastion in this world, gives up on me so I can finally fucking go. I've always found others fascinating. My goal in life above EVERYTHING else has always been to make friends. Every single person I've gotten any connection with has always found someone better. I'm never worth the patience, ever. It's gotten to the point where even I dont give others chances. I dont believe I exist anymore. I'm hoping each day is the final one, as this seems more realistic now, and yet some part of me is still torn up that I dont know what ANY kind of love feels like. Not platonic, romantic, sexual, or simply even in the realm of care. I'll die, nothing more than a pity project. At least that will be the end. I make comics, for me, and that's it now. People are still nice to me. They give me post-it doodles, which I greatly desire, and I cherish that, it's almost my only connection to others. I hope when I die someone loves them for me. I hope my death is as soon as it feels. I shit nothing but green goo today, I have inexplicable rashes all over my body. I never wanted the process to go so slow, but at least it's happening. I'm smoking cigarettes and adding chemicals (cleaners etc) to my alcohol to speed things along. God, this world is beautiful, I wish I could just watch. But I can't. So I want out. More than anything.
Sorry this is disconcerting. Sorry this is all I do. I hope someone finds value in this. Goodnight. I'm sure I'll be back. I never go fast enough. Until then, take care.
Sorry this is disconcerting. Sorry this is all I do. I hope someone finds value in this. Goodnight. I'm sure I'll be back. I never go fast enough. Until then, take care.
