I do nothing productive.
All my time is spent whining or thinking of more things about which to whine.
I can't read anything because it depresses me.
I can't function in society without taking a bunch of medications that fuck with my head because people are mean. It's not me. It's them. That's why I have to fuck myself up.
My mind plays tricks on me. My mind makes me hate myself, and it makes me hate everything else.
And I am all alone.
I have no one to give me a hug and say it's ok. It's not OK, but it's nice to hear it, that someone has hope.
I am all alone.
It took me a very long time to figure out what was different about me. I remember discussing the feeling of heartbreak with someone once, and I described it as a very intense, physical feeling. My companion looked at me rather strangely and said that he/she never experienced physical sensations like that. I thought he/she didn't know what love was. Now I know that I have panic attacks every time someone upsets me, and that's the physical feelings. The tightness in my chest, like something in my chest is actually breaking, is part of a panic attack. It's not like an asthma attack or having pneumonia: it's a very specific feelings, and I always associated it with people hurting me, but no, no no---it was a panic attack. Every time. People's immitigable cruelty gives me panic attacks. Physical pain and emotional pain. because people are mean. And they've always been mean. They will always be mean. People like me who just can't handle it have to adapt by taking medications, when really everyone else should just stop being fucking assholes.
Most people notice now that I'm not a practicing Jew. I used to be. I used to pray all the time and ask for a change. For people to change. For me to change. For anything to change, so I could respect people. It is no question that I love them, but I do not respect them. I've always wanted to respect people. People always say I'm pessimistic. I'm really quite the opposite.
Of course, I forgot that I don't know anything about myself, but everyone else knows everything.
I want to jump off a parking deck. Not because I'm sad, not because I'm anxious, not because I want to stop suffering, not because I want to die. I know I cannot live in a place like this. I have spent time here, and it is not the place for me. I will always be tortured by my desire to give people the truth, even though they are all quite resistant to it. I will always be tortured by my inability to relate to anyone. I will always be tortured by the fact that I am all alone with my mind who betrays me. I live in a body that betrays me, that attacks itself everyday, that is killing itself. I have a mind that does the same.
You wouldn't like it either.