i can't breathe. i don't even know what to write in this stupid fucking book, god i hate it. i hate everything about it, but then again, i hate everything about myself too. from my stupid fucking fat body to my stupid fucking fat face and my stupid fucking voice and eyes and everything. i hate everything about myself and i don't know how i got to this.
i feel like i'm not good enough, you know? that there's always someone out there that's better at everything i do. i have nice eyes? there's someone out there that has nicer ones. i can play an instrument? there's someone out there who can play it better than i can. i feel shitty? well, there's probably someone out there who feels way shittier than i do and for good reason.
i mean, i don't even have a reason anymore. yeah, i used to. everyone used to have a reason for feeling bad, but soon it turns out you don't have a reason and that's when you're really fucked. how can therapy cure someone who doesn't even know why they're sad in the first place? the thing about therapy is, the more secrets you confess, the more likely they're going to believe you're better.
here's a secret though: for these past few days, i've been thinking of death a lot more. in every waking moment i have, i've been thinking of ending everything. in every non waking moment i have, i've been dreaming of what it would be like if i was dead. how everyone would react, what everyone would do.
and you know what? the only thing i've seen in those dreams are people crying for a bit and then moving on. they just forget me. like i meant nothing to them. and yeah, that happens for every dead person i guess. they all get forgotten at some point, but i like to trick myself into believing that i matter a lot more to people than i actually do. you may wonder why i do this, but it's because when i dream of the aftermath of my death, the only thing i can see my family doing is talking about how much of a fucking disappointment i turned out to be and trying to erase me from their lives.
but hey, i understand why they wouldn't want me in their lives. not even i want to be in my life anymore.
YOU ARE READING
emotionally
Non-Fictionbasically a book where i write down how i'm feeling, throw in some really shitty poetry here and there and maybe a few songs for the hell of it. [ trigger warning ]
