The truth and nothing but the ****ing truth
I hate the truth. The truth is that I have an awesome life, tons of potential, and tons of potential friends. The truth is that I’m lucky, I’ve seen the world, lived on three different continents in seven different countries. The truth is that I should be happy. The truth is that I shouldn’t be sitting here in my room crying. The truth is that I have no friends. The truth is that I am addicted to pity and can’t stop. The truth is that I should be going clubbing with friends, have a girlfriend, and realize my potential.
The truth is… that I am miserable. That I hate my life. That I can’t stand myself. That I have no friends. That I like a girl but I can’t express myself. That no one really cares. That I want to overcome this ever so desperately but I can’t see the answer. It’s a beautiful day with clear blue skies and yet I sit inside trying to figure things out. The truth is that I’m a sloth. That all my potential is wasted. That I have the feeling that I’m going to die of shame. That no one accepts me for who I am.
I don’t know why I’m posting this. I should be old enough to handle myself by now. But who cares anyway. Everyone is out dancing tonight. And I’m the only one who is too afraid to go out. The one who is too stupid to enjoy life. I don’t want to go on, yet I know that I have to. I need to break through this brick wall of sadness. I’ve broken through it so many times. But my brain seems to be wired for depression. My life is a string of wasted chances, wasted opportunities and wasted days.
I don’t want to die, yet I don’t want to live either. I’m a ghost in midst of a crowd. I look up at the stars some nights and start to think that it was all in vain. For what am I fighting? Are the ideals I believe in real? Love, hate, friendship, loyality, bitterness, truth, lies… Is any of it real? I just hope I wake from this dream of self-delusion and somehow find out that this isn’t real. That I am able to use my potential. That there is hope. But even the notion of hope is an ideal which I question. Well… you know what they say… hope dies last. I’m disgusted of myself.
I don’t know what to do any more. Time and hope run away like sand through my fingers. All those memories of the meaningless things I’ve done. The youth which I’ve wasted away building a pile of knowledge that is completely useless whilst others built piles of wisdom and relationships.
WHY CAN’T I BE NORMAL??? Why am I always the weird person? God. Conforming to stereotypes because others want me to. Bloody hell. And now I’m spending yet another weekend alone here in my room, staring at the monitor writing a post to people I don’t know and will probably never see or hear from again. This emptiness is killing me. But no one tells me what’s wrong with me. Everyone keeps smiling, saying I’m okay. These patronizing looks are too much to bear. I’m going to break eventually. I can’t stand this anymore. I need help.
This open post was written 8 months, 1 week ago | V/U/S: 145, 20, 4 | Edit Post | Leave a reply | Report Post
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