4:00 AM, listening to the soundtrack for Interstellar and writing depressing sci-fi.
I haven't really changed have I? I still stay up way later than I should, instead of writing depressing song lyrics I write depressing short stories and poems (Since I probably won't end up singing them) and I'm still addicted to listening to music while I do literally anything, and I'm still hurt by the very person I thought would never hurt me.
I can't remember if the first of the five stages of grief is denial, but I guess it was to me. I still held out hope that maybe this could be fixed, even if it's far in the future...
But that hope is dead now. It can't be fixed because you don't want it to be fixed, so I can't do anything. If something happens, great. But, most likely, nothing will.
I can feel myself falling apart. Day by day, hour by hour, I lose a little piece of myself. I guess I've just already given so much that now I'm unraveling, coming apart at the seams because nothing is holding the seams together. I've unstitched the very fabric of my being for those I've loved. I gave them part of it, still connected to me, with the hope they would stay there, stay by my side, and with each time I did this, and with each time they're ripped away from me regardless of how hard I try, as if I hold no power in this world, as if all my efforts do nothing, I've been pulled apart. Now I've lost enough that I don't even need to be pulled apart to fall to pieces, I can do that on my own ow. And I do.
Not on purpose, mind you. I don't pick at what little stitching I have left. But it falls apart anyway, just by the mere fact that time is passing.
I can't save myself. Just like before, I can't do this on my own. But this time, if I'm not saved, I'm legitimately concerned I'll collapse to some new low, some lower state of being where I'll be trapped. Instead of transcending into some new form like some people believe they can, I'm going to break through the floor and become even more oblivious and uncaring and just generally broken and I'm not sure once my fabric becomes entirely undone whether I can be put back together again. Can you even put a soul back together again? Is it like a physical thing where, even if it might take a lot of work and time, it can be fixed, even improved? Or is it nothing like that and once it becomes unraveled, it's lost to the void? I hope it's the former, because I'm already unraveling. And I hope someone will save me. I don't want to become undone...
Because I want to feel like this. I want to try to preserve the past, I want to keep up hope that I can restore what once was, because doing so is the only way I can be truly happy without feeling horrible about it at some point or another.
Meaning simply, even if I do move on and even find happiness again, I'm going to feel something...the closest feeling to which I can describe it as as being guilt. Like that I'm not supposed to be happy other than restoring the past. That isn't exactly the best wording, but I'm not entirely sure how to put into words that can do it justice. It's as if I'm betraying what could be and taking the "easy way" rather than working it out and actually making that restoring the past thing happen. So even if I do find happiness, I'm going to feel bad about it.
But I know trying to go back to how things were is impossible in the same way that getting younger is impossible. You can make yourself appear, speak, act, in general seem younger but you will never actually be younger. I can try to fix this all I want, but the mirror is broken and it will never look right again, no matter what I do.
The combination of these two is why I do this to myself. To avoid confronting the future and moving on and feeling bad if I ever do find happiness, but also to try to hold onto hope that is entirely pointless just so that I won't break down. I'm already in enough misery as is, giving up on creating new memories in the vein of the old will only hurt more. Eventually I'm going to have to, though.
This time, you weren't ripped away by someone else, you took yourself away. And by that fact, I can't do anything about this. I'm powerless. Useless. Hopeless.
I hate myself. I'm so pathetic. A coward. I hide from everything to keep myself safe from having to handle anything. I'm stupid and oblivious and emotional and I never say the right things and I can never seem to make an actually good decision. I might be skilled but my skills aren't good for anything. I might be intelligent but I don't use it. I'm lazy. Completely unmotivated. And just generally horrible at this life thing. I hate basically everything about myself. I'm genuinely surprised you, or anyone else for that matter, loved me in the first place.
I wish I could just disappear. I wish everything could be the same except that I never existed. I wish I could just go to sleep and not wake up because the whole thing was just a dream. I wish this was a dream that I could wake up from.
No, it's not a dream. Its a nightmare. One that's gone on far too long.
A year. April is when it all started to go to s---. So it's been a year. A year of my life I've spent in f---ing misery. Thanks for that, I really f---ing needed it. Maybe I've grown up a little. Or maybe not, maybe I'm just as childish and stupid and this whole thing has only been so that I could suffer more.
Did you even love me in the first place? Was it all just fake? Were you just taking pity on me? Was all the legitimate happiness I got at your expense because you were constantly having to lie to me?
There's no point in this.
Please just let me break. I want to break. Why can't I break?