eat me henger

socializing further highlights the loneliness. it would have been understandable to feel lonely if i was actively pushing people away. but going out of my way to be socially present just adds another dimension to the lie i'm living. i can fake it convincingly. but always, at the end of the day, i feel empty. i just don't feel alive anymore. like i'm consciously occupying an avatar of myself. as if i'm just seeing life unfold through the eyes of a sentient being on auto-pilot. everything has gotten so mechanical and predictable. i've been there and done that. i'm just re-doing them again and again. what's the point.

it gets to a certain level of hopelessness that even real life feels hopeless. i fully admit that all i am really doing is whining childishly with wordplay that makes it seem legit. my problems really aren't real. they're a series of unnecessary complexities by my own undoing with simple and straightforward solutions that i could achieve when emboldened by inebriation. they feel real to me. but since perception is reality, i really am fine because my suffering is wholly imperceptible. true trouble starts when i start physically manifesting my despair. i do my best to keep this written world separate from the world which i actually live in: the world with people i know - some aware of my thoughts and feelings here while seeing the persona i maintain when facing them. as long as i pour all of my negativity here, i manage to buy myself more time before i can really break down. i have to contain the damage within the sentences i string together. but sometimes i have to choose betwe

every time i'm asked to open up to others, i'm reminded why it's never a good idea. never. i'm the only person that can best understand everything i'm going through because i've already woven the multiple layers of my narrative. having to explain it to others is laborious. best case scenario they'll summarize what i said, worst case scenario i'm misinterpreted and then my whole story becomes bastardized and they dictate the direction. oftentimes it's the awkward middle of simply not getting the key point of my struggle. perhaps it's my inability to narrate accessibly. perhaps since i never had any faith in people to ever understand me, i never developed the skill to tell my own story. perhaps i'm just not that self-centered enough to talk about myself. point is, i'm always dissatisfied when opening up to others. i get it. trying is futile. some women grow old with their hymens intact. mine is never having a fulfilling conversation about m

third strike and i ought to be out. i've been failing again and again and again. the only thing i've consistently succeeded in is walking away. this is probably a sign that this isn't my game to play. i'm not greedy. i know when to give other people their rightful chance. there doesn't seem to be a way to win against my inner demons. they're far too resilient no matter how strong i preempt their clutches. this is a marathon and i'm only effective at sprinting. the race should continue on without me. i have to lose the fear of missing out, it doesn't add anything of consequential value. it's merely negative feelings as a result of recognizing the lack that should have been attainable. i must find comfort in trailing behind because that's what happens with me all the time. i'm the disappointing loser. i'm the missing piece never to be found. i'm the tree that fell in the forest that nobody heard. i've gotten so good at losing that i

i feel negative feelings much more intensely as i age. that's why i've been averse from most human interactions because the smallest things trigger me and then i'm falling off the stairs again. i'm there when needed, because adding value to people's lives outweigh the trouble of having my feelings hurt one way or another. i'm becoming more and more sensitive - embarrassingly so. perhaps it's because i've carried so much trauma that it constantly burdens me so any little trouble is a straw that breaks my back. i can't imagine facing the world at large with this propensity to get butthurt easily. well there's always substance dependency. it's no wonder older people are found frequenting bars and never walking up with pill bottles beside their beds. healthcare should be more widely available. maybe then i could be more functional in society. in as much as i try to make it on my own, i don't see any feasible way to do it. i will either need p

i'm a functional mess. somehow i still get enough things done so i'm not completely useless. purpose is what drives me to keep going. if not for the things my past self had signed up for, then i wouldn't be keeping to my obligations. if i had a choice, i would just drop everything and wither away until this wave of depression disappears. i'm functional enough to not admit to everyone how broken down i am right now. writing here affords me the freedom i can't have elsewhere. even to the people whom i love dearly, i still can't be completely genuine with them because nobody needs a broken piece of shit in their lives. i suffer in silence to save them from the superfluous stress of seeing my shortcomings. they can't fix it for me. nobody has the solution. all they can concretely offer me is their company. and then what? i waste their time. i don't bring any value into their lives. i take away from them without giving any back. i'm fine with others leech

i'm the funny guy that wants to die. for one to bring happiness to others and want death for yourself can be both true. a quick wit and an ability to humor an audience doesn't have to come from a place of joy. it's largely a matter of intelligence you were born with and skill that you hone through time until being funny becomes second nature. at my worst day, i can still come up with something that gets a couple of chuckles. oftentimes when i make people laugh, as soon as i find time solely for myself, i return to a somber state of emptiness. agonizing until the next time i'm called up to stage to put up another act. it's not that i'm coming from a place of disingenuousness, humor is as real as it gets, it can't be funny if it doesn't dig into a deep truth in people's heads. just because i smile or laugh with others in the moment doesn't mean i will share the same satisfaction once they're done with me. as they remember me fondly, i will be o

the most i will tell people who know me is that i secretly want to die. i say that to soften the horridly harsh desire for my own death. thankfully, i can be blunt here and admit that one of my top wishes is to die. my whole life seems like a series of unrelated events that will ultimately lead to death. if not for the retrofitting of whatever deeper meaning i could come up with, my time on this world has been a waste of time. it's not that life is hopeless. i'm sincerely convinced that every moment brings hope. there can be beauty in everything. the multitude of people in history that has had profound happiness with every reason one could possibly think of is proof that hope indeed springs eternal. but it's a source i wish not to drink from anymore. everything that gave me hope has had some basis on a lie, one way or another. the only truth i can be absolutely certain of is those which i bring into reality. i'm the only person i trust and yet i'm still weighed down

so this is what it feels to be truly damaged. for the longest time, i've always kept the company of victims. i never really identified with them, just wanted to be a pillar they lean on. i can see that it's hard for them, but i never really understood it. since the biggest betrayal of my life, i've felt nothing but anger and distrust with everyone. i used to be generous with my patience and understanding, but now i don't have a lot to give. however, knowing how it felt when i once had a larger capacity for them, i still try to manage and pretend that i'm still capable. now it's just so miserable that i wish for a car crashing into me or my heart stopping to work. had i been normal without having gone through the all of my trauma, i'm sure i can make it. now i just don't want to anymore. i can see the point of living. it's not entirely hopeless. but the cost heavily outweighs the benefits. it's going to be hard to keep living without being able to