Don't know the date

you lied to me. After all the things you said to my face you turn around and go complain all about me to your friends. You don't like me at all do you? Just saying things to spare my feelings. Hold my hands and cry into my shoulder and just turn around after all that and pretend I was the only one who wanted this. Maybe you're just the same as her, can't be honest for nuts.

8-4

i don't know how you can, in your consciousness, do this to someone. I'm so humiliated yet I think I bring it upon myself.

28/02

honestly what I've learnt this past year is that everyone is selfish to some extent. Everyone wants to talk about themselves, everyone wants someone to care, everyone wants what they think they deserve. No one gives a shit, and its best to live remembering that fact. Some people are true, and they are rare to come by, cherish their presence. Some can patiently watch you slip into a pit.The others just have you there by obligation or for your service. It's kind of pathetic, but you'll stay regardless.

31-1

No one reads this blog anymore, and from what I gather, people assume that I've been doing fine. In the past five years or so, this must be as far from fine as I have been. There's no one around, and I'm starting to learn that no one puts anyone else before themselves anymore. I can no longer turn to anyone for help without feeling like a terrible burden, which leaves me feeling worse than before, and the poison just keeps festering inside of me it feels like a parasite feeding on my negativity. I'm living in constant fear of my surroundings and I'm slowly losing my sense of self. My chest constantly caves in to pain and I haven't been able to sleep much. But I'm not worried because there's nothing to lose, the part of me that's alive is so minuscule that it won't matter if the larger part of me dies off. It's not real.

"Less than human, less than the meanest ghost"

4am

i can't sleep. And I guess I haven't known loneliness till I wake up at 4 in the morning with the whole world turning its back on me.

What do you do when you are so sure about something, about talking to someone, or going somewhere, but it just refuses to align. It almost feels like fate is avoiding you. I have so much on my mind but no one to talk to. Because those who promised they care, I guess they found out they care less than they thought.

I was so thrilled, so excited at the prospect of you being back. But that's all to it.
It's hurting so.

15-12-16

lets be real. No one gives a shit.

1312

Why do I feel so much anger all the time?

When I was younger, 14 or 15, it used to be desperation, a sense of clutching at straws. Just grabbing, clawing for some sort of vague recognition for who or what I am.

When my first girlfriend left me, it wasn't as bad as when I found the underlying reason. Loss turned to a sense of helplessness and it felt like being in a room with walls made of mirrors all turned in. I lost all routine and tried to drown off the pain in vodka and gin. I lost time, about five thousand dollars, and kinda lost myself along the way. Note to self, getting drunk at 2pm every week is a good road to bankruptcy.

I ceased drinking too much, took things into my hands and got a part time job. The cloudiness was dissipating, and the couple of girls on the side made me feel okay about myself. I never liked to talk about my problems, talking about them acknowledged their presence, and made me feel all the more like I wasn't normal.

And as life decided I shouldn't get too content with feeling alright, it sent me another girl to love who led me for a year into believing that she saw me as a who I am. Only, of course, to turn it all around and pretend she'd never been interested instead. Because, well, liking me would ruin her wouldn't it. Thankfully I left her in the past and fell in love with her friend instead. Must have been best couple of years in my life.

All this time though, I feel I've been trying harder and harder to overprovide. Like somehow overcompensating would make me lovable. Like it would make the monster a little more invisible. But some people like to point the monster out. They point at it casually with their hands outstretched and taunt it enough for it to rear its ugly head, and then chuck stones off its horns.

Sometimes a horn breaks off and takes weeks to heal. Sometimes it scabs over and never regrows again. The walls we put up to protect ourselves become a weapon against us.

There is so much anger. Pulsating urges to tear, rip and hurt. the ones closest are the ones you care about, so you turn against yourself instead. It feels like sixty rubber bands stretched taut against your chest, and every breath you take brings it closer to snapping.