14
i feel
spited.
like an outsider with some illusion of being on the inside who's been jeered at and now the fun's over and the animosity's been unveiled. i feel sick.
a love i clung onto blindly and desparately has spat in my face and i'd long ago came to the realization that it had never been mutual, but i only now feel jaded.
she will never love you back, anyone else you try to love will never love you either. call it unattainable, call it a myth, but beyond love you have failed to be liked or even tolerated in any sort of capacity
by the people you call your friends. call it animosity but it is nothing but an appropriate reaction - and not a measured response, because you are not worthy of the time and thought and effort that would take - to your being anywhere near them. devoid of any sort of interest, either actively boring or actively annoying, unable to consider anyone but yourself in anything but the most painfully obvious situations. completely out of tune with the subtleties of human interaction, which you then mull over for an eternity,
but only post-mortem. just.
just fuck my shit up. i really would like to drink myself to sleep. earlier today i had convinced myself, dumbbells in hand, that i would not need the liquor, that i was forcing myself to drink it even, and that to feel sad about my failure at love i would have to actively force myself to think about it. and while the dumbbells were going up and down and my arms were growing tired and my body was aching i felt that was about right. i felt rather fine, somewhat vacant. but shitfeel
is no longer a passing whim and things seem to have changed. that feeling of vacancy soon turned to apathy, soon turned to the realization that there is no such thing as apathy, soon turned into another sinkhole of shit. i feel lonely and tired and long for sleep. i know i will toss and turn in bed with thoughts heavier
than the flimsy dumbbells, and i may need the booze which tastes awful and harsh to be retarded long enough that i can feel somewhat at rest.
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