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I dont want to be around anymore. I cannot believe I am twenty-seven and thinking about ending it all again, as if I was 16. I feel so lost and deeply unsatisfied with my life, I can't seem to find my footing anywhere and I am so sick of being around just for the sake of being around. I can't understand where is this coming from and why am I this unhappy.
I do things I am supposed to do, I think things I am supposed to think but each thought and action is poisoned with self-loathing, doubt and repainted over with indifference and quietness. It's like painting a full, colorful picture and then spilling a bucket of white paint over it. There are glimpses of color here and there and at first they are enough to keep you looking for awhile, but eventually you've looked everywhere and found nothing to catch your eye anymore, so the colors cease to stand out, until they fade completely.
Sometimes I feel like my body is festering from the inside. Bizzare, grotesque imagery. Everything I thought I knew about myself seems foreign, toxic even. I see my brain often - rotting and oozing something unpleasantly attractive.
I think of opening my body up sometimes. I fight these thoughts, as one ought to, as any functioning adult should. The more I fight, the more desperation I experience inside my bones; it wants to come out and I have to let it, I have to let it through my skin and out and maybe force it to come out - whatever it is. My skin is cold and I can feel the goosebumps on my arms and chest. The thought of ending it all excites me in a morbid way. I am afraid of the world. And of myself I am afraid even more.
I do things I am supposed to do, I think things I am supposed to think but each thought and action is poisoned with self-loathing, doubt and repainted over with indifference and quietness. It's like painting a full, colorful picture and then spilling a bucket of white paint over it. There are glimpses of color here and there and at first they are enough to keep you looking for awhile, but eventually you've looked everywhere and found nothing to catch your eye anymore, so the colors cease to stand out, until they fade completely.
Sometimes I feel like my body is festering from the inside. Bizzare, grotesque imagery. Everything I thought I knew about myself seems foreign, toxic even. I see my brain often - rotting and oozing something unpleasantly attractive.
I think of opening my body up sometimes. I fight these thoughts, as one ought to, as any functioning adult should. The more I fight, the more desperation I experience inside my bones; it wants to come out and I have to let it, I have to let it through my skin and out and maybe force it to come out - whatever it is. My skin is cold and I can feel the goosebumps on my arms and chest. The thought of ending it all excites me in a morbid way. I am afraid of the world. And of myself I am afraid even more.