sp,e before i end off the night, or somewhat attempt to, i would like to apologise to the universe.

i am sorry for all the hurt i've caused, intentional or not, to friends, people of my past/present, family, and every other entity. 

i'm not the perfect person, and no one is (apparently) but i'm not a good being either. 

it's just not the best news month after month and let's be real and honest here, i want it to stop. i want 30 days to pass without being reminded of how much of a failure i've been. and whoever is reading this or doesn't, i've failed a couple billion times and will continue to do so as long as i breathe, as long as i open my eyes to see the sun rise, as long as i biologically can. 

i love. and i love too hard and fast. i've been careful. way too careful, and i'm somewhat certain it wasn't my doing this time. but know that i love you and i want the best for you and know that i love you with every fibre of my being.

to get a call from the hospital every other month to find out that something is "not normal", i feel less. no one should feel for me. especially for someone as difficult as me. 

yeah i may type without as little to none spelling or grammatical errors but that's just how "perfect" i want everyone to know me as. always making sure i say the most politically correct things i could say or making sure i punctuate as probably as i possibly can soberly can. if you'd like to know, i'm typing rapidly as i can so i don't lost lose any seemingly conscious thought i can hold at the moment. pardon (or not) that i don't capitalise the first letter of every sentence. that's how i text/type. 

somehow i feel like i should be like this, not absolutely sober (clearly as an excuse) but as honest as i can be because why the fuck not, amirite? 

i'm not an alcoholic but i recognise a typo when i see one. it's stupid but at least (i just shrugged) i make sure i try? i want to drink until i pass out and not remember a thing but you know i know, it takes a lot of alcohol to pass me out. is that even a term? 

i'm disappointing you if you're still reading this. i cannot cope and it is the truth. i've chosen to run away and let's be real, i'm still failing. every fucking thing catches up (it's not as if i do cardio any way). i'm an ugly son of a bitch who has zero control over anything.

i love typing like this. it's fast and straight out of my mind and it's somewhat real. i think. i will regret this in future but i will not delete it because i know it's a part of my head and here's the truth. there you go.

i'm not doing ok. and no one knows. bla bla bla. 

i just want to say that i never stopped trying. i tried. i really did. every time i climb myself out, i fall right back in, and you know what? no one cares and no one knows. and that's absolutely fine. 

i'm sorry.

 de-personalise.

i've always envisioned your little body in the arms of your great-grandfather. and i wanted that picture taken and displayed proudly on my work desk. who knew, you'd be the first to see and embrace him. and you'd better listen to everything he says and learn.

i don't know what i'm crying about. your father and i love each other very much and i am sorry. i'm not ready and i don't know if i'll ever be. you will have absolutely nothing to worry about, you're going to be in great hands. and i envy you. i don't want to know you but i feel you. i know you're in there and i am sorry. 

before you go, you should know that your father has a big, big heart. he has the widest smiles and the kindest eyes. he is so kind and gentle and i somehow got lucky. 

your mother, however, is taking baby (ha!) steps to be a somewhat acceptable version of herself. you can laugh or you may hate her but know that she is fighting herself every day to take her next breath. may you inherit her luscious locks (before she recklessly chemically damaged them) and her nice teeth (haha!). 

may you not be afraid of injections and frogs. may you have many healthy cats to feed and care for. and may you especially be kind to yourself as you would to others. 

this will likely be the first and only time we talk and i am grateful, for your presence has been valuable. 

until we meet again.

 i do not deserve you.

and i do not deserve happiness.

I don't know how to begin writing but I guess beginning with "I don't know" will do. 

I stumbled upon old photos of myself when I was 15 or 16 because I was curious. The bad kind of curious. The kind where you dig up your past to try to help you feel or process the present. The kind where you continue digging and you end up feeling worse because that's exactly what you are. Self-destructive. You don't know when or how it began. You roughly know but you're unsure if it's reason enough. You don't want it to be an excuse either for your terrible behaviour but again, you don't know. 

Back then, I thought I would eventually grow out of that uneventful phase. It has been more than a decade and I still hate myself. For the decisions I make. For the decisions I don't make. For every morning I wake up. For every morning I don't wake up. I try to cry because that's what people do when they're sad but I cannot tear for myself. It stresses me out that I'm unable to feel sad like a proper human being. What am I? How much does one have to cry to be humanly sad? Can I not cry at all and have "depressed" plastered across my forehead?

I don't believe in myself. My thoughts, my words, my lack of emotions. I try but everything about me is a front. I leave the house to avoid my mother and I stay inside to avoid the world. I feel bad. I feel bad that I try to prioritise my sanity but I'm lost. Interaction is exhausting. My head is my home. 

What do depressed people do? Maybe I "felt better" then because my actions had zero consequences. Zero tangible consequences. A million psychological ones 10 years later. 

I don't know what to make of myself. I look at myself and see ugly. I am so ugly. I am so ugly every day. How did I miss that? I was looking at everything else and now I only have my self to look at and I hate it. I hate my reflection, I hate my eyes. I hate my thoughts. I hate everything about my self.

Which demon should I feed tonight? 

it is no fun trying to reason with your demons.

I was about to write "I'm losing myself.." and then I realised, I have lost myself.

People wake up every day grateful to be alive, and my first thoughts would be "I'm a fucking piece of shit".

You know when you're depressed but you retain the ability to rationalise (because I'm not stupid) and you get second thoughts about your -depression- and then you think, maybe I'm stupid after all. It's a whirlwind of negativity in your head and it's difficult to comprehend the root of any matter.

I wish I were pretty enough so you'd be afraid to lose me. When you're fat and ugly, everyone thinks you're lazy.

In a nutshell, I'm a fucking piece of shit.

"i think love is good for you."