For the record, I am very unhappy.

The last three years have been a monochromatic blur. I run into the same problems day after day and there's no end in sight.
Angela told me that all the problems I'm facing now are temporary, and that I'll come out from the tunnel to the other side.

I don't see how this is possible, because I'm convinced that I cannot escape who I am.
I am a miserable monster, a jaded animal.
There's no escaping from depression, it's apart of who I am.
It's been ten years since all of this started. A whole decade- that's nearly half my life.

I don't trust anyone, I push people away. I realized the other day that I don't really have any friends anymore - there are very few people I would count as real friends, and I hardly ever see them.
I do this on purpose though, I know I do. I passively force people away from me by not calling, not texting, not talking to anyone. This isn't a conscious decision, but I know that it comes from somewhere inside of me and I know that I have a problem. Weeks and months will go by before I realize that I haven't seen anyone, aside from Eric.

This is so unhealthy. I feel like my old self again, the one who couldn't connect with people or talk about anything important or sincere, the person who shied away from genuine conversations and connections because I am afraid.

The anxiety and depression are suffocating. I can hardly bring myself to function these days, and I don't know why I get up and do the same things over and over. Everyday is a struggle and I don't know why I do it anymore.

I'm so complacent, it's disgusting. This hole is my home now and I'm too scared to get out. I need help, I need it desperately but I don't trust anyone, don't want to entwine my life and problems with anyone else. I'm scared to talk to people, to tell them how I feel, because I don't want them to worry. I don't want to be around people, because people make me realize how much I hate myself. I am so aware of everything I don't like about myself when I'm with other people, and it just makes me angrier. I have so much difficulty being around other human beings.

I feel like I'm walking a steep path to my grave, and I don't know if I'm afraid or not.
Death is always on my mind. I think of ending everything and simply not exisiting anymore, and how wonderful and terrifiying that would be.
Can you imagine that? When you stop to think what it really means to 'not exist'-
You stop being you. This whole world, this enviroment, it'll continue to function without you. You slip away, and everything STOPS. You don't feel, you don't think, you have no ego or identity. There is nothing- you just stop. You are no longer a part of this existence.

And whatever is next, you won't know until you cease being in this existience.

That's what terrifies me. Letting go of this id, this ego, and moving on to something else- IF there's something else.
A large part of me hopes that there isn't; that when you die, that's the end of everything. You pull the plug and it's over.
But I don't believe that, I really don't. I don't believe that nothing happens after, that you simply fade to black.
And whatever is next, it makes me wonder what kind of consequence there is for killing yourself. What happens to "me" after I die, and what would happen to "me" if I killed myself? What kind of toll would I have to pay? Is there one?

I'm too afraid to die, but I think of it all the time and a part of me really wants to. I want an ending.

I need help, I really do.

Sometimes, I wonder who I would be right now if I had never met him.

It's terrible to feel as though you are depending on another person so heavily; that all my thoughts should inevitably flow back to him, and that I should constantly crave his touch.

As guilty as I do feel, sometimes I wish that I had never met him, or fallen in love with anyone. Solitude and singular freedom...being alone. I miss that, sometimes.

Because now, even when I am alone, I think of him.

I stay up all night because that's the only time I'm truly awake. The only time that I fully acknowledge the pressing issues I have ignored as long as possible, and by acknowledging these things, I am slowly consumed by unending unsureness.

There's a gaping black hole at the end of every day; slowly sucking away any threads of hope for a future or purposeful existence that I've weaved while doing the day walk. Moving through the motions, efficient like a machine. I click and clack along at a steady pace, working first and thinking later.

It all unwinds.

I experience the same feelings of dread, anxiety, fear, shit terror and blind hopefulness everyday. Re-hash old material, because I can't think of anything new.

That black hole, it sits at the end of my bed. There's no where else to look, your eyes can't avoid being drawn into the center of Nothing.
Staring makes it worse.
Security and ambition get sucked into the hungry, gaping mouth and I feel myself falling further away from my body/physical connection, and I'm swimming down below the surface, in a place that no one can reach me.

A hand moves to comfort the shell, an attempt at a loving embrace meant to encourage feelings of warmth and protection
a pleading voice says "But you mean everything to me"

and it's so far away, I can barely hear it. I feel a heavy lump on my chest, far above me,
and I wonder, "Who or what matters to me?"

I would feel guilty, but I can't feel anything.

My skin falls off and I
lock myself outside the apartment and there I am,
piss and shit running down my legs
an endless stream of tears blurring my shriveled face
low-frequency mumble steadily grows into a side splitting shriek;
dying feline with a crushed rib cage; pinned under a sack of hammers

and I have done it to myself.

When it's time to get back into that skin suit,
it's always an unpleasant experience.
Because well you see the thing about skin suits,
is that they loosen with every shedding and you can't get that feeling of
security and innocence back.
Each time you take it off,
it will not fit the same as the last time you wore it.

Fall to pieces, an incomprehensible mess
your skin peels off in long, thin strips - like shredded paper,
drifting slowly to the ground and revealing the shoddy wire structure
holding up your rotting husk
and you don't even have the decency to clean up after yourself.

Meat that's left to spoil
the stink of rot and failure sends your gag reflex into spasms; you choke on the heavy musk
of diseased aspiration.
The mess horrifies you and you shame yourself into a corner on the other side of the room
so that you don't have to look at the bubbling mass of shit that you have shed.

Ignore it, it will (not) go away.
Cover your eyes

Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I don't recognize the person looking back at me.

The same nose, lips, cheeks and ears are there. My hair. My facial structure. They're all in the same place.

But there's something wrong with my eyes; like there's some great weight behind them that's adding years to my appearance.
Like I've seen and done this all so many, many times before - more times than I can actually remember.

Sometimes, I just feel so old.
It goes beyond what actual-and very little- life experience I have had. My bones feel like they're made of brick and there's molasses running through my veins. Tired, old, and heavy. It seems like I've felt all of this before, all of these emotions thousands of times. More times than I possibly ever could have.

Have you ever felt like you've been here before? Maybe like you've been around for centuries, even though you're barely in your twenties?

Sometimes, I feel like a fossil wrapped in new skin. I see something ancient creeping behind my eyes, and it makes me wonder how long I've been here for.

Old Souls Know, I suppose.