I know I said that I wouldn’t write anymore, but writing seems to achieve more than locking myself in the bathroom and just sobbing alone, wasting tears and an opportunity to turn my pain into something tangible, even if no one reads it or cares.
I’m hurting. It’s funny how a stupid love scene in a movie or a song can reduce me to tears in what seems like a split second. So many songs trigger memories, love scenes in movies remind me of what I long for, but will never have again. As much as I want to die, I hate that time is flying by so fast, wasted days turn into wasted weeks, wasted months and wasted years. As broken as I am and as physically unappealing as I look, I feel like I still have a lot of love to give someone, if they were willing to accept my flaws and be patient with me.
But it’s not to be. I’m just getting older and uglier. I’m drowning in the murky sea of my own personal hell, losing touch with reality and all hope has gone. Love is the one thing I truly hoped for since childhood. I had it once, but I blew it.
Sometimes I wonder if this is all just a very long nightmare. Maybe the real me is on a life support machine somewhere and none of this is actually real. Maybe my life is a punishment for something bad I did in a previous life, or maybe it’s just a huge practical joke.
I wish that I could’ve been important to someone. I wasn’t always this depressed and this devoid of hope. All I wanted was to both fit in and to be myself, but I’ve realized that neither of those things will ever be possible enough for me to want to stick around.
What I would love right now is for someone to put their arms around me and tell me “it’ll be okay”, but that isn’t going to happen. I’m all alone and it’s not goimg to be okay.