2/12/22
It's a new day. I slept in until 12. I usually don't stay up or sleep in that late, but I guess I was just really tired from yesterday. I'm glad it's Saturday, I can never have peace of mind or take a break from schoolwork so the least I can do is just have some time to myself for a day or two. I've been getting massive burnout for the past few weeks, I don't know why I've been neglecting all of the important things and schoolwork in addition, I just feel like nothing is interesting anymore. I really can't help but ponder why the hell I was put on this Earth to feel these things, it feels like torment more than anything else. I have so many things I try to express but ultimately fail at doing, and it's nothing more than a vicious cycle of trying to get something off my chest and then disregarding everything I say as embarassing fabrications of how I feel. I don't know what's going to happen today, or tomorrow, because everything's become so unpredictable in my life that I don't even know if I'll give for another year. I try to be by myself in my room for at least a half an hour but I always get scolded for "isolating" myself. I feel like everyone is against me sometimes and nobody actually cares about how I feel, and sometimes I'm okay with that. It might as well be for the better. I don't know when this will clear up. I just hope I can cope with it for at least a while.
2/11/22
This is yet another investment I'll lose the motivation to do only a week after doing it. I'm fucking gross when it comes to keeping shit up and not randomly quitting it, and I have no idea how to prevent it from happening. By now it's just an inevitability that this will eventually die, like all the other things on this website.
...I don't want to write about what happened today. I appreciate you coming here, though. I hope my ramblings can entertain you for a while. Until tomorrow.
Some strange thing that happens is that when I write to myself I tend to give this hypothetical "diary" of sorts it's own appearance and personality and shit... obviously, this is not a diary. I am restricted in that I am speaking to a public audience, rather than solely me. Regardless, treating the awful shit I write to myself as an actual sentient being is... kind of comforting. I honestly don't know if there's something wrong with me, but I imagine there is because I do the weirdest shit in the weirdest ways and look upon myself as a weirdo. I'd love to just pour my heart into describing my feelings, but I hate myself when I do that because expressing myself anywhere just gets me embarrassed. Sometimes... sometimes I wish that weren't a problem. But evidently, it is. I'll most likely have to live with it for the rest of my life. I don't know how I'll die at this point. Right now all I'm envisioning is me offing myself because what better can I do? Get hit by a fucking car? I've always despised myself. I don't know why it's actually starting to kick in now. I hope you don't mind if it sounds like I'm speaking to you, the reader, sometimes. I just wish I had someone to go to, but I don't. I never do, and I never will. Do not offer me help. Knowing I could be speaking my mind to anyone is a lot more comforting and makes me less of a nervous wreck. Don't come up to me, I'll come up to you. That's the opposite of what I usually do, but everything is changing in my life at this point. You have value. I don't. Go find something better to read.