Why don’t I come here and write anymore? My life is going to hell.

Winter is coming, and I’m just living in energy-saving mode.

No wonder I’ve become unnecessary.

Who needs a loser? Just a useless being with no future, no job, no will to live.

Life is in standby mode.

Waiting for what? For it all to end?

I’m too weak to end it by myself.

So I just drift with the current.

Trapped within four walls.

And I don’t expect anything anymore.

And I don’t even know what to write anymore. It’s always the same.

Every day feels like a copy of the one before, like time got stuck.

Nothing changes inside me.

I just exist, not live.

Words lose their meaning, because there’s no hope or events behind them.

Just repetition: day, night, apathy.

I crave a cigarette, a drink, anything to drown out the noise in my head, but I can’t even afford that kind of escape.

What’s the point of finding a job if it’s only to earn the means to destroy myself again?

And what’s the use of all these pills that were meant to bring me back to life, when inside I’m nothing but a corpse pretending to breathe?

What’s the point of all this…? They keep telling me to get better, to take care of my health, to pull myself together, as if that alone could fix anything.

I go along with it, for now, while I still have some money left.

But once that runs out, I know it — no one will need me anymore.

Maybe, with time, I’ll pull myself together, but for the first time, I just don’t care that I’ve hit rock bottom. I’m so lonely and weak.

I’ve shut my heart. I’ve shut my life.

But I’ll remember everyone who stays by my side while I’m like this…

And I’ll forget everyone who left me when I was in unbearable pain.

And if I ever come back to myself, I’ll repay those who stayed, threefold, for not leaving me…

I really need support… but at the same time, I shut myself off from everyone and try not to communicate with anyone. I’ve locked myself inside, yet I crave the kind of support that’s forceful, the kind where someone comes and pulls you out of that darkness, even when you resist. But that only happens in fairy tales… And I just hope I can become that kind of person for myself and finally stop being that person for everyone else.

It hurts every single day — as if everything inside me has been burned out.

Randomthoughts's Dear Diary