exert from june 27th 2022
“i’m a fucking retard. i’m the stupidest son of a bitch on earth to have believed such obvious lies. someone like me? someone enjoy talking to me? someone miss me? someone caring about me? am i fucking delusional? i must’ve forgotten who i am.”
i know i wrote that on a bad day, but even looking at it now on a good day the words feel so true. they stem from sadness and hurt but even in a state of tranquility i still identify with those ideas. it’s not melancholy, it’s not depressing, it’s just reality. i find a sense of comfort in these ideas. i find comfort in alienating myself. i find comfort in making myself feel useless. to the point where when people disagree with my idea of myself it pisses me off. no one knows me the way i know myself, and i know deep down i’m unlovable. why does that sentiment have to be sad? why can’t i comfort myself by being invisible? outsiders don’t understand me, so how could they speak on the person i am? i am a slew of awful things, let me soak in my swamp of disgust peacefully.
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