There are days
that I seriously wonder why the hell I keep trying.
It’s one of
those days.
For the
good things that will come in the future?
Yeah,
right. Judging by how many good things have come my way already, I should have thrown
in my towel years ago.
Come on
then. Bring on the good stuff. I am already out of here mentally. I might be
out of here literally unless something good happens. I am not referring to dreams
or swaps or reading books or meeting with friends. I am talking about something
tangible, practical, happening in real life. I am one step before I collapse
and decide I don’t want to get out of bed anymore, because there is no point
whatsoever.
Do
something. There has to be something more to life than eating, bathing and dragging
myself from one meaningless chore to another.
I am sick
of this so-called life.
I am sick
of everyone and everything.
There must
be something I am doing wrong.
Some clue I
have missed.
This can’t
be real.
I feel
dead,
cheated,
used up,
gone.
And even as I write this I know nothing is going to change. It's personal, isn't it?
Yes it is.
Hm.
Here is some Ian Somerhalder because it's a better option than taking pills and slitting my wrists or something equally melodramatic and stupid.
