chasmic

self-talk

I don't know what else to do, and it doesn't seem fair that it's all ending this way because I didn't do anything, really, to deserve this, in fact, I've done nothing but love and persevere and try over and over again, and yet it's NEVER enough, and I'm tired of being told that I'm NEVER ENOUGH, and what does it take to get there because I'm starting to think that no one really knows, but they somehow just get it, but I missed the memo everytime it was sent out, and I keep *complaining* about it all the time, so even I'm tired of being around me, I'm starting to see why everyone else left!

You pathetic loser! Stop crying all the time about how you lost out and how you're not good enough! Crying and whining doesn't change anything, getting out of bed every single day isn't working, getting a job, quitting a job, going to school, graduating from school, travelling the world, meeting new people, trying new foods, taking selfies, taking tours, long bus rides across borders, sleeping in airports, sleeping off jet lags, and sleeping on planes . . . the only peace I feel is when I'm not truly aware of anything that's real, when my subconscious takes the lead and makes me dream of anyone and anything, people I havent talked to in years, people I will never talk to again, conversations about nothing teaching me nothing, but that desire for some overarching lesson that will save me at the end of the day doesn't exist in this land of peace, and it doesn't need to because I'm not truly alive in this halfway place, similar to when I'm awake but now my body knows it too . . . remember, big smile, shoulders back, chin up, smack yourself a few times if you need to before you leave your room because we don't need the sickness that has spread through your mind to spread to the innocents around you, but who knows, maybe they do get it, a lot of people are better than you at hiding what's on the inside, I'm sure they understood at one point, not that it truly matters because they can't help you, even the doctor couldn't help you when you finally went to see her, right, and you tried to convince yourself that it was working but you left angrier and more self-loathing than when you first showed up.

And, uh. I'm spent. I have nothing else to add, so I keep saying the same things over and over again because I have nothing else to add and I'm spent. You keep staring at that wall, is it going to change color? It's still white and blank, just like my insides, I feel like, so I'm sure I'll change when the wall does.

Do I give up or is writing this a final attempt at trying to make value from this worthless situation, of trying to profit off of my misery and my numbness and my nothingness . . . am I the worthless variable in this situation and can I make value when I don't possess it, or am I possessed by some angst demon that I let in when I gave up that first time and let myself be vulnerable for that last time?