An unsteady hand and scribbles on digital page.
|There is no peace.|
In any given moment, I am finding ways to ruin things. I am finding excuses to not lead a normal life. Burning bridges. I have paved this road to nowhere and insist on walking it alone and with a bottle in hand. I don't trust the relationships in my life. I don't trust people enough to take their kind words at face value. Everyone is a liar. They want something from me. That's why they're around. Every thought is one to turn me against what little good there is. Every action set to sabotage my successes. Every mark on my skin,
scab on my fist,
burn on my arm,
drink that I down,
lie that I tell,
friend that I hate...
testaments to the absurdity of my life.
I don't know who I am. I have no personality. I've always just been who others wanted. Masked madness and self loathing in a crowd too stupid to see it or uncompassionate to comment. There's no road forward and no road back. I keep writing this, telling myself this to remind me that it's true. I'm standing still and just waiting, wishing, for an end.
I've been having headaches for months now. Strong ones that won't go away. They blur my vision and make me sick. I keep wishing it's brain cancer. That's a messed up thing to want.
I'm messed up.
I hate people.
I hate myself.