I believe I’m broken.
And that’s not me asking for your help. I’m sick of people trying to help me, trying to figure out what’s going on. If I wanted you to know you’d already knew, ok? You can’t help me. Some can but you, you can’t. It’s not that easy.
I’m stuck. Not as a fly would be stuck in a spider web, oh no. I’m a moron spider stuck in its own web. I made it so sticky even I can’t get out. Can’t find the way out.
Unless I just don’t want to. It’s easy being broken. You just lay, there. Of course you have things to do, papers to write, work and deadlines and so on. But who cares? Who gives a single fuck?! I don’t. I. Don’t. Care. I don’t even care that people are actually caring. Fuck them and fuck the whole thing. Screw everyone and everything ’cause things are fucked up. The world is fucked up. So why bother? Why even try, harder and harder, to make things better? Someone will destroy what you make at some point.
I know I may sound bitter. It can’t be as bad as I say it is right? Surely I must be exaggerating. Yeah, that’s it: I’m just a lonely, broken soul spitting its awkwardness in the face of the world because it can’t deal with it. Or am I?
One day I’ll laugh at myself for all these days and nights that were slipping through my fingers while I was just lying on my bed and waiting. And maybe, this one day, I’ll finally know what I was waiting for.