Everything is so unimaginably dull. I stare at my phone for 22 hours a day. Nothing. I talk to people. Nothing. I reread all my old Wattpads in an attempt to search for some kind of answer to my current problem. I have mulled over the same thoughts and mannerisms and interests forever with virtually no progress. Nothing. Nothing. It all means nothing. I can't bring myself to give a fuck about school. Everything is trivial. Ewan brought up this book he started reading called Venus in Furs, with an essay by Gilles Deleuze in it. Couldn't give a fuck. Would usually excite me. I don't give a fuck. I laugh hysterically on my Instagram story. My college friends all like it. It means nothing. Music is nothing. I hear nothing. I've been in the same place for years. I pretend it's not there. My life seems meaningless. My past feels like a big hump of nothing. Been through nothing. Feel nothing. Feel amusement. Used to be disgusted. Now I try to be amused. The things that used to upset me seem trivial. I listen to a lot of Robbie Basho and John Maus. Those things used to excite me. Christmas is ruined. Three weeks. Three weeks. I'll never amount to anything. I don't want my parents to feel responsible. Nothing is exciting.
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I'm so sorry you feel the same as me. You aren't nothing, Madison. I'll always care about you. At least we have each other here in the wilderness.
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I miss sex. You would think depression would beat that out of me.
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They think that I got no respect, but everything means less than zero!
