I can’t write anymore. I know something has changed. My mind can’t contain these ideas, yet I can’t quite put it all into words. I feel stifled. I’m tired. I get 9 hours of sleep and I’m still tired.
I don’t think it’s all because of depression. Maybe it’s because of how I view the world now. I can feel myself slipping and I just want to sleep. I’m angry all the time, and despite projecting it onto others, I’m mainly angry at myself. I haven’t felt this angry for awhile. I want to slice into myself, like my body has become a different kind of canvas instead of a piece of paper. Blood mixing with water.
I want to go on a long drive and never look back. I only want to bring the books which have saved me in so many ways. I want to create a new life, somewhere away from here. I wanna be by the ocean, to feel the sand beneath my feet every morning. I wanna sip on tea and read books completely undisturbed by the sound of cars honking or the tram line running. I want to know what it’s like to feel complete. Why am I never satisfied? Maybe I’ll never be happy.
I try to look for the silver lining. I’m so lucky and I know I take it for granted.. I can’t help but feel lonely all the time. Lonely when I’m not alone. That’s a different kind of isolation I suppose. I wanna love and know what it’s like to be loved. I don’t want things to feel temporary. Every guy is just a different train stop now. When will I reach the end of the line?
Is the idea of self-love just a myth? I’ve been searching for it forever and I still can’t find it. Oh well
This world is utter madness. We all treat each other like we are disposable, replaceable. Maybe we are, I like to think we aren’t.
I’ll go to a place where the weather is cold and icy. I wanna see the snow fall for the first time, Christmas in winter maybe. A new life. I’ll eat cake, have my tea and read books. Until I wake up, it’ll be bliss.