More of my disjointed thoughts and also censorship.
I feel so strongly connected to the data of my life. What happened when, when I wrote that thing, when that picture of me was taken. It's like, if I don't record it, I will lose grasp of the parts of my life that came before this moment, and I'll never be able to get it back.
Anyway, here's the latest in my Notes app note called "Thoughts." Don't judge me too harshly, please, it's been a rough couple of years.
I’ve been working on maintaining eye contact with attractive men. It is awkward, and I can’t wait to look away, but you know. They keep looking back.
I can’t wait to die. Because even though it’s already July, I still feel every single day.
I’m just waiting for either someone to hire me or for the level of frustration I can take to collide with my impulsivity, and I almost don’t care which happens first. Which probably means I’m closer to the second.
I feel like such a waste. I am not interesting (no matter what Nikki says), I do not contribute anything meaningful to society, I don’t even have a simple, ordinary life with a family and a house and maybe a decent income. I’m a nothing, especially to my workplace. And I just want to stop existing. Except I don’t. Because I want to make things, and watch things, and read things, and do things, and sometimes I want to stay home and never work again but mostly I just want to be not miserable every day when I go to work. I want not to cry everyday and consider death everyday and convince myself not to because Nikki would suffer everyday. But yeah, sometimes I just want to die, by somebody else’s doing, so I don’t have to take responsibility for it and still have what little chance of going to heaven that I do now. And then I hear about somebody dying young, usually because they were murdered because that’s the sort of thing I listen to and they always had so much going for them and so much life left to live. They planned to cure cancer, mold young minds, or even have a simple, ordinary life with their high school sweethearts and someone or something ripped all of that away. And here I am, wasting a perfectly good life, feeling sorry for myself and letting myself remain in misery, just because I can’t see a way out. And I don’t mean that it’s easy, because it isn’t and I know that because if it was easy I’d have already done it because I always take the easy way out. I am wasting a life so many people have died for. What would they have done, if they could’ve had my years? Perhaps they’d have failed, as I have, because life has a way of ruining plans, or maybe that’s God, and maybe that’s what would’ve been best, but probably we’ll never know because who wastes questions like that in heaven. I would. I fully plan to ask about Maura Murray and Bryce Laspisa, should I ever make it up there. What should I do now, seeing as I do have my years, for however much longer they’ll go on? I both hope they don’t, because I don’t know how to get out of this place, and that they do because I’ll be sad about never getting to see Nikki again, whichever it is of us to go first. Also, I have a Christmas book nook to build.
From journal, 9/17/2019: I’ve been withholding [my life from God], keeping it aside for whatever guy comes to ask for it. I never considered that no one would.
How do I ignore my feelings? I feel so lost, alone, and sad. I don’t know what to do about it. There are times when I just want to give up on everything. Just drink the soda, buy fast food dinner everyday, waste all of my time on my phone. Who cares? It’s not like this life is going anywhere. But whose fault is that? It’s mine, and I don’t know how to fix it. There are too many things I have to do in a day and too much ennui to battle against. I just want it all to stop. Maybe I’ll take off for that weekend in June and just spend it entirely alone. Sleep in the car, drive all day, make zero stops, see how far away I can get. I’m a little afraid I wouldn’t come back. At some point, seeing Nikki won’t be enough reason to keep going.
REDACTED is married (and what does it matter if I say his name now?) and it’s really tripping me up. I hadn’t really thought about our encounters in a while, and now I can’t stop remembering them and wondering again if I was just stupid and ignorant and completely misread the situation. Maybe he was never interested, but maybe he was and I missed out. Since they are married now, I know it wasn’t supposed to be us. Maybe this is all just my sign to stop being so weird around guys and just talk to them. Or maybe this is my sign that marriage isn’t in the plan.
Maybe it’s not so abnormal to involuntarily hang on to a years-long crush that hasn’t had any encouragement in months.
I make up stories in my head to fall asleep, to fight off boredom, to do something with my brain other than think about how disappointing I’ve turned out to be. I imagine comfortable romances, gentle gestures, hopefully realistic meet-cutes. I once accidentally started imagining something bad happening to me. I consoled myself with the thought that no scene I’ve ever put myself into has ever come true. It worked so well that now I imagine all of the bad things happening to me, just to make sure that they don’t.
I've removed the last one because this is a society in which censoring one's self is practically necessary for survival. Considering the events of today, that "practically" may soon be irrelevant.
Anyway, here's the latest in my Notes app note called "Thoughts." Don't judge me too harshly, please, it's been a rough couple of years.
I’ve been working on maintaining eye contact with attractive men. It is awkward, and I can’t wait to look away, but you know. They keep looking back.
I can’t wait to die. Because even though it’s already July, I still feel every single day.
I’m just waiting for either someone to hire me or for the level of frustration I can take to collide with my impulsivity, and I almost don’t care which happens first. Which probably means I’m closer to the second.
I feel like such a waste. I am not interesting (no matter what Nikki says), I do not contribute anything meaningful to society, I don’t even have a simple, ordinary life with a family and a house and maybe a decent income. I’m a nothing, especially to my workplace. And I just want to stop existing. Except I don’t. Because I want to make things, and watch things, and read things, and do things, and sometimes I want to stay home and never work again but mostly I just want to be not miserable every day when I go to work. I want not to cry everyday and consider death everyday and convince myself not to because Nikki would suffer everyday. But yeah, sometimes I just want to die, by somebody else’s doing, so I don’t have to take responsibility for it and still have what little chance of going to heaven that I do now. And then I hear about somebody dying young, usually because they were murdered because that’s the sort of thing I listen to and they always had so much going for them and so much life left to live. They planned to cure cancer, mold young minds, or even have a simple, ordinary life with their high school sweethearts and someone or something ripped all of that away. And here I am, wasting a perfectly good life, feeling sorry for myself and letting myself remain in misery, just because I can’t see a way out. And I don’t mean that it’s easy, because it isn’t and I know that because if it was easy I’d have already done it because I always take the easy way out. I am wasting a life so many people have died for. What would they have done, if they could’ve had my years? Perhaps they’d have failed, as I have, because life has a way of ruining plans, or maybe that’s God, and maybe that’s what would’ve been best, but probably we’ll never know because who wastes questions like that in heaven. I would. I fully plan to ask about Maura Murray and Bryce Laspisa, should I ever make it up there. What should I do now, seeing as I do have my years, for however much longer they’ll go on? I both hope they don’t, because I don’t know how to get out of this place, and that they do because I’ll be sad about never getting to see Nikki again, whichever it is of us to go first. Also, I have a Christmas book nook to build.
From journal, 9/17/2019: I’ve been withholding [my life from God], keeping it aside for whatever guy comes to ask for it. I never considered that no one would.
How do I ignore my feelings? I feel so lost, alone, and sad. I don’t know what to do about it. There are times when I just want to give up on everything. Just drink the soda, buy fast food dinner everyday, waste all of my time on my phone. Who cares? It’s not like this life is going anywhere. But whose fault is that? It’s mine, and I don’t know how to fix it. There are too many things I have to do in a day and too much ennui to battle against. I just want it all to stop. Maybe I’ll take off for that weekend in June and just spend it entirely alone. Sleep in the car, drive all day, make zero stops, see how far away I can get. I’m a little afraid I wouldn’t come back. At some point, seeing Nikki won’t be enough reason to keep going.
REDACTED is married (and what does it matter if I say his name now?) and it’s really tripping me up. I hadn’t really thought about our encounters in a while, and now I can’t stop remembering them and wondering again if I was just stupid and ignorant and completely misread the situation. Maybe he was never interested, but maybe he was and I missed out. Since they are married now, I know it wasn’t supposed to be us. Maybe this is all just my sign to stop being so weird around guys and just talk to them. Or maybe this is my sign that marriage isn’t in the plan.
Maybe it’s not so abnormal to involuntarily hang on to a years-long crush that hasn’t had any encouragement in months.
I make up stories in my head to fall asleep, to fight off boredom, to do something with my brain other than think about how disappointing I’ve turned out to be. I imagine comfortable romances, gentle gestures, hopefully realistic meet-cutes. I once accidentally started imagining something bad happening to me. I consoled myself with the thought that no scene I’ve ever put myself into has ever come true. It worked so well that now I imagine all of the bad things happening to me, just to make sure that they don’t.
I've removed the last one because this is a society in which censoring one's self is practically necessary for survival. Considering the events of today, that "practically" may soon be irrelevant.
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