Weight Lifting
I don't know what's wrong with me. I was so happy earlier.
Preparing for the new year I have to come to terms with the fact that I have ruined everything. I have ruined everything and not-so-slowly isolated myself. I am truly, overwhelmingly, alone. There's no one left to deal with my shit. And what did I expect?
I'm not a good person and I do not deserve good things.
I think it's time to give up my pen-name. I think maybe I need to let my more extravagant dreams die. This might be my last post.
I've never really been able to get a handle on what I wanted out of life, but maybe that's because I'm not the type of person who can have the luxury of desire. Ambition was always internally destructive. This might be the best I can manage until I manage to die. Just being a cog, for the most part reliable, but unlovable. I don't know how many times I can have someone kindly tell me they want the best for me. I don't know how to live up to whatever it is I was supposed to accomplish. I don't know how to be happy. I only know how to do things I'm sure will fuck everything up. To say things that will hurt. To prove everyone's worst impressions of me right. The medication won't make that better. Nothing will. I would have to, and I don't know if I could ever make myself do so. I think I have been hoping to reach a point where I was so sick of myself I could just give up.
I'm so sick of myself. I'm so sick of trying. I don't want to do anything. I want to stagnate. I want to just give in to the flow of time and disappear. I want to leave no mark. I want to do the bare minimum. And then not. I just need to stop fucking up other people's lives.
Most of all I don't want to pretend to let people in anymore. Like you, you're separated by the anonymity of the internet. This peek in has been a carefully curated one. Like any body of work it's open to interpretation and shows only the narrative I wanted seen. Is that all connections? Is everyone just putting together little displays of pseudo-honesty? An act in several parts to make us seem much more similar than we truly are? I don't want to play at it anymore- which means putting on a much more elaborate scheme. That sounds infinitely more tiring but far less dangerous- so I suppose it'll work out. I think maybe the "fake it till you make it" phrase might come into play. After so long of just acting this new part, where everything is fine, and I want for nothing, and everyone is kept at a polite but less notable distance, things will just be that way.
It's been nice talking to you. I'm sorry I didn't really let you in, but you wouldn't have liked it anyway.
Preparing for the new year I have to come to terms with the fact that I have ruined everything. I have ruined everything and not-so-slowly isolated myself. I am truly, overwhelmingly, alone. There's no one left to deal with my shit. And what did I expect?
I'm not a good person and I do not deserve good things.
I think it's time to give up my pen-name. I think maybe I need to let my more extravagant dreams die. This might be my last post.
I've never really been able to get a handle on what I wanted out of life, but maybe that's because I'm not the type of person who can have the luxury of desire. Ambition was always internally destructive. This might be the best I can manage until I manage to die. Just being a cog, for the most part reliable, but unlovable. I don't know how many times I can have someone kindly tell me they want the best for me. I don't know how to live up to whatever it is I was supposed to accomplish. I don't know how to be happy. I only know how to do things I'm sure will fuck everything up. To say things that will hurt. To prove everyone's worst impressions of me right. The medication won't make that better. Nothing will. I would have to, and I don't know if I could ever make myself do so. I think I have been hoping to reach a point where I was so sick of myself I could just give up.
I'm so sick of myself. I'm so sick of trying. I don't want to do anything. I want to stagnate. I want to just give in to the flow of time and disappear. I want to leave no mark. I want to do the bare minimum. And then not. I just need to stop fucking up other people's lives.
Most of all I don't want to pretend to let people in anymore. Like you, you're separated by the anonymity of the internet. This peek in has been a carefully curated one. Like any body of work it's open to interpretation and shows only the narrative I wanted seen. Is that all connections? Is everyone just putting together little displays of pseudo-honesty? An act in several parts to make us seem much more similar than we truly are? I don't want to play at it anymore- which means putting on a much more elaborate scheme. That sounds infinitely more tiring but far less dangerous- so I suppose it'll work out. I think maybe the "fake it till you make it" phrase might come into play. After so long of just acting this new part, where everything is fine, and I want for nothing, and everyone is kept at a polite but less notable distance, things will just be that way.
It's been nice talking to you. I'm sorry I didn't really let you in, but you wouldn't have liked it anyway.
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