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2009-09-22, 8:31 p.m.
I’m so sick of this.
I want to rest.
But it doesn’t matter how much sleep I get, I never feel rested.
For how long am I going to feel this way?
I want to do something crazy, travel, just escape.
But I neither have the money or the strength to do so.
Let’s face it, I can’t travel, not even to another town in this country.
I panic when I can’t sleep in my own bed.
But I want to change, so what am I supposed to do?
Change my appearance?
Cut my hair?
I don’t want to.
I don’t want to do anything.
I want nothing to change.
But still I feel this urge inside of me, the urge to do something.
Escape.
First thing that comes to mind is suicide.
It’s so easy to kill myself.
And the voices like the idea, ‘come on enurta, you know you want to. It would feel so good’.
Eternal sleep.
I don’t want that either.
I just want to get away from myself but I can’t.
Because I am stuck in this body.
I wish I was a bird soaring high in the sky.
What a feeling…that must be.
To be completely free.
I feel like disappearing, would anyone besides N notice?
If I turned into a bird and flew away?
He would miss me, he would cry.
And I don’t want that.
So I am waiting, waiting patiently for something to happen, something to change.
I’m so sick of my life.
I’m only 23 years old but time flies, right?
How sick of myself am I going to feel when I turn 40?
Or 50?
I’m sick of pills, sick of cigarettes, sick of food.
But I need all those three right now.
It’s the solution to everything, hey, are you feeling anxious? Take a xanax.
Hey, are you psychotic, you can’t stop crying? Take zyprexa.
You can’t sleep? Take a couple of rohypnol.
Are the voices giving you a hard time? Smoke a cigarette.
Then smoke another, and another. Until you want to throw up.
Are you hungry now because your nauseous?
There’s bread and cheese, binge.
Eat until you’re about to burst.
Then throw up.
Smoke a fag.
Do you feel better?
Well. Yeah.
What kind of fucking life is that?
It’s pathetic.
It shouldn’t even be allowed to called a life.
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