we are in our new house. i would like it if i was into liking things anymore.
i’m really really down. i don’t know if i’m going to be writing anymore after this. i’m back to abusing clonazepam to sleep. i have no good left in me. that’s what it feels like. i have nobody anymore. it feels like everyone has given up on me, so why shouldn’t i, tho?
even my reasons for opting out of suicide are selfish: i wouldn’t be able to bear the guilt and shame that failed attempts inevitably bring. and i would fail at it, like i fail at every last fucking thing. i am incapable of living though. incompatible with human life and all that it means.
i keep looking at internships with NGOs halfheartedly, and am almost done with the whole common application thing for schools, but i just feel like a fucking loser for hoping i could ever get a job that i liked like that. i feel like an imposter.
i don’t want to eat, i’ve decided to quit eating. so i sleep instead. the hours i’m awake are productive, so as to not arouse suspicion, but i am now alone for most of the day so i covertly sleep most of the time away. i wake up over and over at night because i don’t think people are meant to sleep this much. i save my calories for when people are around, so nobody worries.
i send pictures of xmas lights in old alexandria and ivy and japanese maple leaves around our yard to nafees and pretend i’m doing great. i don’t want to burden him with the weight of my actual self. i don’t know what the fuck i’m doing.
i used to love nature. i had a weird lonely fascination with it. now i only go outside when i am forced to. like to walk my dog.
i used to love humanity, as flawed as it is. i had such hopes for the world, almost naively so. i really thought i could have a place in it.
i’m going to go take a shower so my dog doesn’t hear me crying. she’s the only one who ever hears me cry and i think she’s beginning to hate me for it.