Words

To a greater or lesser extent, I dislike every single person I know. I need an outlet. Whenever I become extremely emotional, much like I am in this moment, I just get stoned and make everything happy, when in reality I'm just pushing everything away and when I return to consciousness, everything is shitty again. I completely understand but drug addiction is a thing. Completely. If I knew the right people I could see myself becoming addicted to some very troubling drugs and ruining my life. When things become really shitty there is no where else to go except up. Until you find a new way to bring yourself down, in which case you live there. You dig a deep hole there. You bury yourself there. You kill yourself there. You kill the idea of happiness there. You kill the idea of possibility there. I often wonder what it would be like to take another man's life. I don't know if I have it in me to kill someone. Obviously killing someone is wildly circumstantial, but if justified, I like to think that I could kill someone. I sometimes feel like killing someone. Never myself. Not my precious, pointless existence. No. Of course not. I just want to project my years and years of frustration and rage that have been suppressed by people who just want me to be happy and will do anything for me. Other people's happiness towards and for me has led me to become wildly unhappy and thinking often to myself what it would be like to stab someone in the heart and watch the life leave their body as they sink deeper into insignificance. Every once in a while I'll send out a distress text message to a friend or two, but once I confirm that everything is fine, though I'm always lying, they immediately dismiss it. It is understandable that they believe me and that they dismiss me, since they have their own problems, dealing with my personal bullshit shouldn't be a priority. I just find it amusing that everyone is all concerned, and caring, and full of it, until you "reassure" them that you're fine, and then all is immediately well. I don't ever honestly want to talk to people about my problems because I don't care about what anyone has to say about them. I just want to know that people care about me. I don't want to experience the caring, I just want to be aware of it. That's why I always turn my phone off immediately after sending those messages. I don't want to talk about my feelings, I just want to scream and yell and punch someone in the face until I can see the bone breaking through what is left of the skin on my hand. I want to destroy something. I want to witness something completely fall apart. I want that thing to not be my own life. There are a few more words I want to share with you, future self, who is already aware of all of this, but is simply being reminded of what a shithead you used to be: I just myself a few times around this time of last year. I don't hate myself or anything. Well. I do sometimes, but that isn't why. I just wanted to bleed. I enjoy feeling pain. I've been injured so few times in my sheltered, governed for me little life that sometimes I just want to bleed. Nothing too serious. I just myself in the fatty part of my leg, so it was just the first layer of skin. But I did it once. And then I did it five more times immediately afterwards because, as the joke goes, it hurt so good. Though I check Blogger almost daily to see if any friend has posted intimate details about their lives, of which I am thoroughly curious, I hope nobody reads this. I hope that because I don't want to have a conversation about it. I think I might go break some bottles in the alleyway. What if I threw a rock through a window? Nah that's passive-aggression. What if I punched someone in the face in such a way that when they looked up, there was blood running from their nose and mouth. There I stand in a fit of adrenaline, my hand throbbing, likely also bleeding. Whenever I have justification to get into a genuine fight, I want to warn the Internet, and the detective reading this, that I might not be able to control myself. Things might get out of hand. Depending on my state of mind at the time, I might do what the narrator of Fight Club did and punch his face in so many times that he'll never look the same again, if he ever looks again. Jesus, I wish I wasn't this angry. My GPA in high school was 3.6. My GPA last year was 3.2. My GPA this year is 2.8. I'm digressing, and you can literally see it in numbers. I'm so sad. Not emotionally. Me as a person. Looking in from an outsiders perspective I am a sad individual. I shouldn't be alive. I don't contribute anything to any field or discipline or anything. I don't even contribute negatively. My sole purpose on this Earth is to figure myself out. I'm afraid that the day I achieve happiness, is the same day that I die. One must know, not fear, but know that someday they're going to die. I have so much more to say. Goodbye.