a stupid emo fuck entry
September 07, 2003 @ 12:21 a.m.
I'm terribly lonely. Terribly. I'm feeling terribly misused, and terribly fat. I don't belong anywhere. Not with my friends. Not at my college. Not with my roommate. (Boys look at her, and then they look away -- what about me? They never take notice. They don't even look once.)
And all I can do about it is eat brownies, and stay up later than I need to, and yearn, and yearn for someone that will take that yearning away someday.
I just keep seeing all these bodies, and all the hormones mixing, and like there will be a giant orgy in 2.4 seconds and I will not be invited, except to watch, and feel lonely. I am Sisyphus, forced to deal again and again with my fate, my weight being my rock, pushing up and up the hill, again and again, being forgotten each time.
And there is lonely, lonely, lonely. I have not forgotten it and I never will, not even if I am never lonely again. A melancholy remains, makes me wonder why not, makes me wonder who would miss me.
Makes me wonder who would find me in the morning, gashes gaping, mouth open in declaring one final injustice. Makes me wonder if they would have an article in the paper, makes me wonder who I would be survived by. Makes me wonder who would survive.
Makes me wonder if they would notice.
Every day I sink a bit deeper, I learn that I'm a little less than anyone, even my friends, especially my friends, especially those thin girls, especially any girl.
Especially men.
It's not true what they say, oh, it's not. Men are good, men are good. They have long fingers and Adam's apples and giggles and deep-throated laughs, and some have guitars and they're the best. They think with their penises (but thinking with hearts is generally overrated).
And I don't think. I can't think. I think too much and then I sink, I sink. Every day gets harder, trying to keep from pounding sad head into sad wall, into sad fists and pulling at sad hair. That is my form of self-injury, now, thrashing my brain. Calling "stupid stupid" while beating violently against the stupid thing. I have given up cutting -- too cliche, too chance for infection. (My paranoia with catching Ebola or smallpox grows with every book I read about it.)
Instead the thrashing about seals it all inside, no mess, no tending wounds afterwards. Just ibuprofen, feel better in the morning. Fantasizing about it has become my pasttime. Even thinking about it makes me feel less stupid.
Makes it better.
Makes everything better.
So does alcohol.
I want to drink but not for the wrong reasons. I want to drink to feel it burning in my gut, in my bittertasting taste receptors, I want to feel it burn, I want to feel myself losing it. I want to be comfortable with losing it.
I want to lose everything. My virginity.
Stupid fucking virginity. Something in me can't give it away. Nobody wants me.
...I guess I'll go eat worms.
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- - March 22, 2010
always the same - July 01, 2008
b-a-n-a-n-a-s! - December 25, 2006
elementary again - October 29, 2006
I don't like you, but I love you - October 03, 2006