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And since I have some semblance of a reputation to keep to, it's going here rather than anywhere else.
'Reputation'? Pffffhahaa who am I kidding.
I'm twenty, right? Right, twenty years and some odd months and a few days old and a pathetic waste of flesh. Supposedly, admitting things is the first step to getting help or identifying what one needs to do to rectify things.
Supposedly.
I have never held a job in my life, despite several interviews. No one called back. Apparently I'm not persistent enough, according to my mother.
I have never had a boyfriend or a girlfriend, even when I had the chance. When someone displays interest, I avoid them and tell them the truth if they persist: I'm asexual, leaning toward aromantic. But if I'm aromantic as I say, why do I daydream of being with someone?
I can count my real-life, flesh and blood, face-to-face friends on just two hands. I can count the friends I talk to regularly on one.
I am, for all intents and purposes, a freak. I whole-heartedly blame grades four to grades nine... We were living in a place where the people were bitchtits. It warped my mind a little. When we moved - the first time someone approached me at school for friendly chit-chat, I felt faint and panicky. Even now, I can't approach strangers or do various things without thinking hey, they might kill me or something, even though things never were that drastic. It's easy enough to ignore, though.
I cling to my childhood and will probably never let go. I don't want to grow up - the responsibilities scare me and I'll likely have a breakdown the first few days when I get out on my own. If I get out on my own. Life confuses me too much.
I don't know what the hell I want to do. Part of me wants to focus on art. Part of me wants to focus on science. If I think hard enough about it, I actually feel physically torn... It's to a point where I've been contemplating going through a science course after I pay off the loan for art.
I'm useless around the house. I feel bad about it. But I can't seem to get myself to do anything--like, I'd wash the dishes quite happily if my parents weren't home, but they always are, and I don't like being watched.
I don't even know if I want to do art! I'm not good at putting myself out there! How the hell am I going to do anything?!
I hate my body. It's disgusting and gross--actually, I hate the human body, in general. ********, let's take it up a notch... I hate ALL things biological. They're gross... Greasy. Sweaty, shitty, bloody, pissy, wasteful and disgusting. This is coming from someone who really loved biology dissections.
I long to be normal--I long to love, I long to not be useless, I long to love the human form like good little artists and, well... Humans in general, should. I want myself to want to be with someone. But it isn't possible, now is it? I find people gross. I would never want to be with one--clingy, disgusting, needy creatures as we are.
The inability, however, comes to two simple things. The aforementioned disgust with life, and knowing that in the long run, it's all pointless. Why try? Come death, it's all going to amount to nothing. Even if I do end up well known by some miraculous chance of fate, what does it matter?
Even if I do get with someone, it's only going to end.
Even if I sort through whatever issues I have, does it matter?
Even if I settle on something to do with my life, what's the use? I'll get better at it--yay! And then I'll die, and my experiences and learning will be for naught. Be it oblivion, an afterlife or reincarnation, it's still a bunch of pointless bullshit.
If you clean something, it only gets dirty again. Why try to keep it clean?
For the record, I do believe that deities exist. But what are we to them, and why would they supply us with an afterlife of any sort?
And yet, out of all it's pointlessness, the possibility of total oblivion scares me too much to induce a post-birth abortion. Life is lovely.
 coup DiS grace · Sun Aug 16, 2009 @ 05:21am · 0 Comments |
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