It shouldnt be this hard, nothing should be this hard. Everything i like psuhign agaisnt a brick wall, like screamin gin a padded room, wghat the fuckl is the ppoint, why do i bother, why cant i jsut say what i want to say and mean what i want to mean. Why cant i function, why does the world turn and i have to struggle to keep up

For some reaon everything iw ant runs from me, not because i want it, but because everything does. It shouldnt be this hard. I shouldnt have to work so much for something, for anything, every part of my life is tis strang eepic struggle and i cant simplify it i cant relax it wont elt me pass. And i cant go through it ot under it or over it or around it all i can do is charge toward it, at it, push it, ram my head agaisnt it in vain, like those rams tht just keep butting heads till their horns are tangled and they are stuck and it is all so akward to get out, everything is so akward for me.i jusat cant function with everyone else, the way everyone else does, i cant, i cant, it jsut doesnt work, i cant make myseve move that way like a salmon swimming upsteam but there is jsut one, one that is it, no others were made, and so how will i not be alone? How wil i find a way to not be alone. I have sepnt my whole like alone and i will die young and still alone. and that is it. That is all i have, thats all i know for certain and i love it because, no matter how morbid and depressing it is, i can beleive in it and feel certain of it, and grounded by that knowledge.

BEcause at least that isnt generic advice from a can that isnt comforting to me but makes you feel like you made a difference and therefore can wash your hands of me, that with a few words your involvement in my problem is gone and done with. And it makes you feel good.

it makes you feel like a fucking saint. Because you deigned to help poor pitiful ugly disgusting me. Congratulations you't ethe new mother theresa becuase you pretended to care.

You dont care, you dont give a shit about me. you just want to feel better about yourself for the sake of padding your own ego, so by patting me on the head in ym sadness you can pretend to have fixed me when i wasnt broken, and all you do is make me feel worse.

i hate you . . . .

i dont want to but i do