I don’t know what I want anymore. My days are a struggle. I try my hardest to focus on work or being productive but it’s erratic and I lose focus easily. Still, I keep trying to keep moving forward a little at a time, even if it’s just sending an email or paying a bill. My logical brain tries to guide me, “you should eat better, try and go for a walk, don’t you want to exercise?” And when I can’t find the will or energy, guilt and shame for feeling sorry for myself… for being pathetic. For being too self-centered and only thinking about me and not others.
Life just seems so futile and empty… and that’s how I feel. Incredibly empty. I hate myself so much and I don’t want to be here anymore but I also don’t have the will to commit suicide. I just fantasize about being dead all the time. My emotional state is erratic. I go from being fine to thinking about my brother, and my family, and all the emotions and thoughts wrapped up in that and I just start crying or I have a mini anxiety attack. Literally like 30 second bursts in private and then I lock it down because I can’t afford to fall apart if I intend to keep living.
In a way I feel just as listless and empty (suicidal?) as the week R was out except now I don’t have the luxury to make an attempt without him being here to notice. I don’t think I have the strength to go through with it anyway – which makes me feel pathetic and like a failure for that too. Like why keep living if I’m just going to fucking complain about it all the time – might as well stop going to therapy and stop wasting everyone’s time if I’m not planning on being here in the future or am unable to stop being so fucking pathetically sad.
I don’t know what I want out of therapy anyway. I keep thinking about going and I just don’t want to, I hate myself too much to show my face and have him look at how pathetic I am, how I’ve let myself go cause I just – don’t – fucking – care anymore.
As I write those words it hurts – because of how true it feels. Since I can’t kms, I might try and just do some damage to myself. Drinking is too brutal but cutting or I’ve been thinking about burning might help. It’s something. It might be all I have to keep going. To feel good even for a moment, in the act of punishing myself. I know it’s fucked up and I hear it… but it’s also honest. It doesn’t matter, it’s just a dumb body – and I don’t deserve to live in it anyway so whatever.
Gonna stop writing about being emo as fuck and go do something about it.