my writings

ugh

Ugh. I wish he'd just stop. Pretending to care when he'd obviously much rather be off making out with Louise. Fucking Daniel and his fucking niceness. It was better when he didn't give a fuck.

I don't even know what's wrong with me. But does that really matter, though? Why does everything have to be diagnosed and named and recorded? Why can't anything just... be? Why are people so fucking annoying?

This façade is tiring. Everything is tiring. I don't want to do this anymore.

Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I was me. Then I wonder who I am. I don't think I have a true personality. My life is just a list of people I've pretended to be; a list of masks I've donned. There's nothing that makes me say, "Oh, that's so me!" Maybe that makes me fucked up. Maybe I am.

I can't stand to look at him. When he comes up to me, asking me what's wrong, compassion in his eyes – it's all fake. He's a fucking fake. Everything he does and says is fake. He's more of an actor than me. He obviously doesn't give a fuck about me.

I want to stop.

I want everything to stop.

I want... I want an ending.

I don't care if it's not happy. I just want it to end.

- - - - - - 

I'm better now.

I've come to understand that life isn't about simply surviving.

It's not about trying to make your whole life a celebration.

It's about enjoying the small, simple moments.

Moments I didn't have.

It's about having fun with the people you care about, the people who make you smile.

People I pushed away.

It's about living.

Which I gave up on.

But I'm better now.