My Journal

March 9th

I've decided that my life is entirely unfair. Without getting into it, if I believed in a God and that everyone in life had their purpose, mine would be to commit suicide.

Not necessarily, more like mine would be to feel like I've had my heart run over 16 times in a row at any problem, which is making me feel like shit.

Because you see, just as much as I cannot control other people's feelings, I cannot control my own. Most of the time, I just want the latter. Other times, I'd love to just be able to say "hey you should feel this," and then POOF!

Everything would go my way...

But of course, that's not how you play the game, so you feel what you feel, you either speak up or sit down. If whatever  happens ends up working out, it's fine. If not, It'll still be fine, it might take longer to cope.

Considering I've already had some of the most trauma already, I didn't need to go around and tell people how I feel so I can get fucking rejected again. No god damn thank you.

So I sit in my room and cry about how unfair my life is. I fantasize about what would happen if I got some guts and told people what the hell is actually going inside my head all of the time and things actually went in my favor.

But since it's already a guarantee that they won't go in my favor, I'll just have to deal with it.

And that's my shit. And that sucks, but at least I know I can still feel things because I haven't felt anything since I had a breakdown last month.

I don't think I've felt any outstanding happiness since that one chapter where it seemed like I downed three adderalls and listened to country music until my ears bled.

Still, I have a lot to do, so maybe I should just write this and then get on with my life.

We all know it's not going away, it's just going to my favorite place; suppression station. That's an underground hide out where I keep my feelings and pretend they're not real until another two or three months.

So that's the night. All I'm going to make of it, I guess.