Absolute Futility

It all feels so fucking futile. Dating, falling in love, yadda yadda yadda. It just feels futile. Like it's no use. Like it's humiliating just to try. Other people might try and find someone after something like this, just to have someone to be with. To me, that is just... I don't want it. It's abhorrent. Undignified. I don't want anyone new. There's something humiliating about it. Like I would work SO hard, try SO hard for something that doesn't even come close.

But hell... That's what I am doing now. And that's what I am giving up, minute by minute. Trying to find something worthwhile doing. But it all feels empty. So empty.

I might have an apartment soon. It should make me happy. And it did, for a couple of hours. But I'm just afraid that it will make me more secluded. I mean, just look at last year! Fuck. And nothing has improved since then, to put it mildly. During all this I have been afraid that I might not pull through, but now I just don't care. I feel like it's not worth it. Like it's lying to myself.

Nothing makes any difference. Nothing helps. Nothing is fun. Everything is futile.

I was happy once, wasn't I?

I can't feel like this. I'll die. And I'll destroy whatever I have left.

I look myself in the mirror and I don't know what I see. I see myself and shit and NO MATTER WHAT I PUT ON all I can say to myself is: "what the fuck are you doing? This isn't you. Who do you think you are fooling?"

Everything I am, everything I do, everything I think is a lie. Nobody knows me and nobody ever will, because there is nothing to know. And why would anybody want to really know me?

I feel like I am constantly on the verge of throwing up. I feel like my whole body might just fall into a convulsing heap that will try to turn itself inside out by puking. And I don't care. Everything hurts and everything is meaningless so I might go through this just as well as I might not go through it.

I feel like once there was a point in trying. Once, even when it was darkest and most chaotic and I felt like my whole life was a burning piece of rubble, it felt like there was a point. That I could repair it. Or build something new. Or that it at least was worth the effort to try, that just the effort was worth something. Not today. Today it's not worth anything. Everything can fuck off. The light in the end of the tunnel is not even a train, it's at best fucking firefly that took a wrong turn somewhere and can't find it's way out. No. Fucking. Point.

It's a horrible thing, putting your feelings into words. It makes them so much more real. Even when you already know that you are lying to yourself, putting those words down on paper... It just shreds... everything. It just destroys every remnant of... something. Of thinking that you do something because it might be fun.

I don't understand where it went wrong. It was good once. Where did it go wrong?

I feel so utterly utterly wasted and lost and fooled. God's got a terrible sense of humor.

The world is closed of to me. Even the places I once visited and wished that I in some small way could belong to is closed of to me. I can't even wish.