#stop being a piece of shit you goddamn useless leech

[vicsep7250]

Nintendo Direct.

[cinderscoria]

This insomnia is gonna kill me. I dunno. I never feel more manic than when I put effort into something and it fails. And I might be using that word wrong--mania is generally described as being up, as being high energy, but to me it's when I have lost complete and utter control, when my emotions break free of the chokehold my logical side has them locked in and wreck havoc on my brain. It's like, total anarchy, it's like that first taste of freedom and they refuse to go back. And like, logic is a fucking bully, it's an asshole, but it exists for a reason. If I lose control everything burns. All the bridges I worked my ass off to build and maintain, up in smoke. So I can never lose control. But God, some nights I want to scream and I don't ever want to stop. I DON'T try, that's the thing, because I know what the answer is. Failure, every time. And if it isn't it's a trap, false sense of security, and I know better but I fall for it every time. Could you imagine being stable? Being normal? Do people normally sit up at two in the morning and start screaming because they actually tried this time, they knew that without sleep they were going to slip, take everything and everyone with them? I woke up and cursed not even making four hours this time. And I could try, I could lay down and close my eyes, but what's the fucking point? Depression's only beautiful from far away, you know, catch glimpses at a time, lightning in a storm that never dissipates, but it gets closer, it rolls over you. The thunder breaks the sky in pieces and you know logically it can't be falling but for a brief second you genuinely believe the world is gonna end. It's comforting to me, and comfortable, because the moment I start doing better I doubt I was ever bad to begin with. At least here I know, I can validate myself if nobody else wants to. They're always indoors, y'know? I've been dancing outside in this storm since forever. I take it with me everywhere I go. You only see the lightning. You always think, yeah, it's not so bad from way the fuck over here, but the second the thunder booms you remember you are less than nothing to Mother Nature, you're a speck on a speck on a speck. Nobody gives a fuck. Is it time to try again yet? I have to come down off this high. It's manic so it's not good, but I threw a pillow across the room in my forced silent rage, so I know the energy's there. I know, logically, you can't die from not sleeping, and I know logically it's not that big a deal. But borderline blows everything out of proportion, and I'm not convinced you can't literally be fever-bright toeing the line between eyes open and whatever the hell that dream was, and I am probably not going to throw up, but it's a close thing. And yeah, there are more productive things one can being doing with their time when they wake up at two in the AM, things that are not writing almost-poetry on their dying phone and lamenting their own death (or the fact that it hasn't happened yet), but I only really have the energy for this. Well. This and sitting on the countertop drinking milk from a mug in my kitchen, bathed only in the light from the glowing refrigerator numbers. Comforting. This I know like the back of my hand. I wish it didn't have to be like this, but to be honest I don't know how to handle it when I'm not. I've been up, sort of, maybe a week ago now--I dunno, the days kind of blur together--and I've been making plans and trying things and doing chores and riding bikes. So I want to say yeah, I'm okay, I think I'm okay, it's been some time so I don't really remember what okay feels like, but this is what I imagine being okay is like. But when I land back here--I do ever time, you know--I can't help but sink into it, because I know how to deal when I don't want to, I know how to fight every urge to do something self destructive, and maybe I'm masochistic or maybe I'm just broken beyond repair, but it's familiar. It's like goddamn Stockholm syndrome. Americans work best when they have something to right against. I'm just. blown out of proportion. As usual. I'm not designed to survive in this place and time. It's a miracle I'm still here. Or a curse, depending on how you look at it. Life ain't shit if it's shit to you lmao. A gift, they tell you, too blessed to be depressed, here are a hundred reasons to stay alive--as if you see sunrises every day, as if you can afford to treat yourself to coffee or to a massage, as if people will smile back at you when you pass them in the street. If I'm being logical about this shit I'm being realistic, too. Nobody wants me here, and the feeling is mutual. I do not make up for the pain and destruction I cause. Nobody wants a storm that never ends, no matter how beautiful it is from far away. I cannot survive in society, and if I try I'm gonna hurt people, I'm gonna kill people too. Goddamn parasite. Goddamn leech. I'm too tired and I care too much for that. Sometimes logic is broken too, and when that happens I got nothing left, really. "I hope you sleep well"--well shit fam, me too, even though hope is useless and especially in this instance, because I didn't sleep well, I'm actually doubting that I slept at all, and I'm in a lot of pain physically and emotionally and lord, I don't deserve such kind wishes, and I kinda wish I'd seen that message before I closed my eyes, because at least then I'd have an excuse as to why I'm awake. There's no logic behind insomnia, no reasoning for depression and anxiety. There's no treating borderline. I'm fucked all the way around, babe, pity the fuck outta me lmao. There's not much else we can do. You don't keep broken things, y'know? They go to the dump. Get crushed and incinerated and chucked way the fuck out in the ocean where they can't hurt anybody. And you forget about that toy you had when you were six, the one you swore you'd never lose fondness for, your favorite. I know it. Been there. It's not a bad thing, to extend your usefulness and be thrown out. As long as you're not hurting anybody along the way, right? It's been half an hour and I should try again, because I have nothing else to do but stare at a wall and wish I wasn't here--to type this all up on my tiny little dying phone, as if letting you know where I'm at mentally will help, even though it doesn't, it just makes people worry when I really don't deserve that kindness. Thanks, Non, for the message. I'll do my best. You're just gonna have to have enough hope for the both of us.