Saturday 27 August 2011

Drainage.

Life is becoming a chore. There is a tiredness in me that never goes away. Most days I just lie on my bed staring at the ceiling wondering how I'll survive the next day and the day after that, and the day after that. It doesn't seem worth it anymore. For a while I would try to act all petite and normal in the company of people especially friends,being all assholic and acting excited about new clothing lines and shoes and all other kinds of crap. But now...I seem to have lost control. I blurt out how I want it to end so badly and they laugh or ignore it completely. They are people of the world after all no? But sadly of shockingly little use to me. I don't really want it anymore,you know. I don't want them, I don't want myself, I don't even care about the worldwide fame I dreamt  of, all this time. Now all that holds me to anything is a strange sort of guilt that I must not let go because I loved that particular something or someone once. But things have changed, now I can't possibly love anything, now nothing can mean anything because the time for it to prove itself is up. Entirely up. I keep getting myself out of this and it keeps coming back and each time it's worse, the games my mind is playing on me keep advancing, as if they know exactly what my next move will be and that I don't have the will or the power to stop them. A terrible thing is a great mind because it is in such eternal conspiracy against all that exists, including its owner.  I had started my novel but now the very thought of it wroughts me with fatigue and a sense of loss. If I go back now, I won't be able to end it. I can neither fight nor surrender because both will kill me. There is no way to stay alive. Not even metaphorically. What the hell am I supposed to do? 

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