Cringe - It's the First and Last Reaction

I'm tired. Always fucking tired. And nobody, no big-PhD-holding-know-it-all-doctor can tell me what's wrong. And I know why. Because they don't make pills for a fucked up existence. We can pop our drugs and walk around in a doped stupor for a few weeks, maybe even months if you're one of the lucky ones, but eventually they want to take you off their own cure because they were wrong, it isn't working, it never did. You were simply swallowing a placebo that failed its main function.

I sleep all day because there's nothing better to do, because no amount of effort put into this joke people have created out of life does anything. Not one thing. You try so God damned hard just to see it come back at you with some new fucked up monster born out of their sick and selfish minds. Have you ever seen someone genuinely do something for someone else? Be honest. Think hard. The answer is no. No one does anything for anyone else, no one really, truly cares about anyone else. The only reason anyone does anything is to benefit themselves in some way.

You do it too. We all do. Right now you're glaring at the screen, growing angry because I'm attacking your state of mind. I'm not attacking it. We both know it. There are so few people who ever do anything that doesn't end in their gain in some way or another that it's really become an epidemic. Before you go all ape shit and throw your pride in my face by leaving, humor me and read a little further. Because I'll be the first to admit I do it too. You aren't alone.

I just want to wake up. Every day passes me by, my life sliding over a cliff and pooling up into oblivion at the bottom, unused and disappointing. There's this sick exasperation in my stomach all the time, makes me want to vomit. I can't get past whatever invisible fucking barrier I've run into. And the part that scares me the most, is that sometimes (most of the time) I think I don't want to. Maybe I do just want to stay stuck. It's easy. And when I get to the point of complete and utter wastefulness, I'll realize I want that cliche death, that angsty suicide I've always condemned other people for giving up to. Weaklings. That's what I think of them. They're weak.

"I'll never be like them." I tell myself. But I know it's a lie. There are days I dream about jumping off the balcony with a rope around my neck, waiting for that eventual snap, and the inevitable scream of someone. It's selfish of me, because I want to hurt someone else, scar someone else for the rest of their lives by killing what's left of me in such a way. It's always the same girl I picture screaming. She doesn't even go to my school anymore. She should get out of my head. She'll get lost.

She's a nice girl too. Never did anything to me intentionally. Hell, she left school because she was so much like me. I still hate her sometimes. She's so fucking good. So fucking genuinely good, or so it seems. I can still pick out moments with her when I know she's doing it to make herself look good, especially in front of HIM. Ugh. She's just another walking cunt with the odd good moment. I'd never say this to her of course. If I ever saw her again (assuming she wasn't screaming, staring up at my dangling feet) I'd be as polite as ever, tell her how much I "miss" her and wish she'd come back to school.

Bald faced lie. I'm glad she's gone. It still pisses me off she tries to take in HIM even when she left. She knows he doesn't love her though. Or if she thinks he does, she'll hate me when I take him away. He loves me. At least he says he does. And at least I believe him.

I know I love him sometimes. Rarely to the same extent he feels about me, but when he's gone from my life for a while I begin to fall apart in small ways that grow like ripples. I kind of hate it. No. Not kind of. I do hate it. I hate it more than almost anything. It drives me nuts that someone besides me has control over something inside of myself. I hate not having control. It's me, me is mine, and I'm the one in the God damn drivers seat, I'm the one behind the wheel. He's like a popped tired with no spare or a dead battery on an abandoned road with no jumper cables. Out of my control yet part of me. If I could kill it, I would. Just walk away from the fucking car and start running. But running never works with him. He just keeps coming back, like some stray dog that doesn't know where to turn. Constantly lapping up whatever I have left.

I should be in bed right now, should be getting sleep and preparing for another day, but I don't want to. I hate sleeping now. Something so comfortable and needed and now that's ruined too. Just to crawl back under those covers where I just spent my entire day makes me feel sick. Makes acidic bile rise in my throat. And it's made worse by the fact I know it's no one's fault but my own.

No. That's not true. It's not just my fault. Human beings can't control the chemical imbalances in their brains (don't try to tell me otherwise, I've tried and again, like everything else I put effort behind, it didn't work). If people had just understood, had just backed off when they needed to or had comforted when they knew they should have. If people had just shut the fuck up and stopped dwelling on themselves and their petty problems for five minutes to open their eyes and see a life that needed a hand. No. Not needed. Needs. Fuck. All I wanted was love that didn't smother or demand and freedom without strings attached and worry dragging it down. Why can't I live my life the way I want to? Who said I had to do it the way some fat bastard in a business suit with multiple chins bulging over his sweated out collar decided I should do it? Did I ask for the fuckers' opinion? No. I never voted. There has been no democracy in my life thus far. I just want to live. As in Life. Not "life" as they define it.

I'm tired. Always fucking tired. Tired of this shit hole we've made of the world. Tired of people ignoring what's directly in front of them and giving into the brainwashed ideas nailed into their skulls from birth. Tired of "life" their way. I'm done living for them and expecting them to change, done trying to be what they want. I'm me. And I'm staying that way. Love is no longer the goal of my life, to find one human being who cares about anything but themselves. I've met few and still expect they really aren't who they appear to be. I'm going out alone. It's the best way now, the right way. There's no point anything they try to make me do and I don't need them. They think I do, and that's what fucks them up, screws with their heads, is that I openly show them I don't need them. They can't accept it and it sparks some modern day instinct to enrage, to believe there's something wrong with me, to try and strap me down to a table and swallow their drugs so I can forget life for awhile and be the robot they want me to be.

No more. I'm done.