5am thoughts

Sunday, December 27th, 2015 08:49 pm
nekrateholic: (Default)
[personal profile] nekrateholic
Sometimes I fall into these... conditions. I like of them as nothing serious but the paranoid (and the one prone to drama) part of me yells big words like depression, anxiety and various disorders. When it gets like this, it feels... bland. Detached and apathetic. Like I'm a picture drained of color, only it never had color to begin with. Like the entire world is a big meh. And then I think of all the people in my life that are worth living for and the things worth living for and the things people think I'm supposed to be doing and the things I think I'm supposed to be doing. They are not always the same. 
And then I get the urges to attack any and all alcohol available or stay up all night because I know I'll be nauseus and nursing a headache in the morning. I get the urge to break myself, to hurt myself in a way that won't actually hurt me and most importantly won't raise worried glances. I don't have the guts or the desire to do anything more severe. I don't know if I'm happy about that, honestly. Usually I drown these urges in books or movies or something of the kind, anything to get me away from my life and put me into someone else's, if just for  little while. Sometimes it doesn't work. Like tonight, I guess. It's 5 am and I lie awake and I'm thinking how everything just feels too big for me, like finally all the things I don't know how to deal with will be too much for the imaginary carpet I sweep them under and I'll burst at the seams any second now and my guts will spill out and there will be blood and all that will be left of me will be a slasher worthy pile of flesh. I pobably won't even make much of a mess.
It sounds awfully emo now that I think of it. The weird part is I don't actually hate myself. For the most part I feel apathetic. I don't want to hurt myself for punishmet, I want to hurt for... feeling. I want to know if destruction is really as pretty as it is in my head. It's probably not, it's probably the exact opposite but that doesn't help my thoughts of it in the small hours of the night. 
I tend to fall into these conditions when I'm exposed to too much time to myself. I spend an awful lot of my time doing things I don't nessesarily feel like doing, going to places I don't nessesarily want to be because of other people or because I think that's what I should be enjoying. If I'm left to my own devices I'd most likely spend days looking at the ceiling. Or a book. Or something. I would probably cut off all communication with the outside world too. Which would be a bad idea on so may levels.
I think somehow, along the years, being happy has slipped into pretending to be happy in front of others too, but mostly in front of myself. I'm very good at that. And now I don't know how to fix that. It didn't use to be like that. I had started to get better. And then Alaska happened and five months' worth of bad shit, intensive shit got swept under that imaginary carpet and now I'm back on square one. I hate it.
And the worst of all is regret. It's the single thing I fear and hate most and it's a thing that I feel a lot these days. I guess ut's just too big for the carpet. I don't even know what exactly all that regret is for. And I have no fucking clue what to do with it.

I guess this is one way to deal with shit. I don't want to talk about it so I just write it down and put it up here. Well, it could be worse.

This song seems awfully suiting. Only the one whose love I need is me.

March 2017


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