Every time I eat shrooms I just end up crying for a few hours lol.

  I’m a lot happier these days. That’s scary to me. I don’t want to abandon the grief that has been with me these last two decades. As my life seems to get better, as I work, and earn things, and create a future for myself, and get closer and closer to accomplishing my goals, I get scared. I’m scared of being happy and normal. I like knowing that I’m going to die soon, I like smoking cigarettes even though I know they’ll make me ugly, I like ruining things for myself. 

  Well, I don’t like it, I’m just comfortable with it, used to it, it’s familiar, so now I’m attached to it. I spent a few weeks in bed after my first real break up. It happened right before college. This is the story I keep telling people, about how she ended up sleeping with three of my friends, you all know the one. Anyway, I couldn’t sit through lectures or classes, so I stayed in bed, and waited till it felt like someone was fucking my bladder with a knife, until I’d go pee. On the third day, my body started screaming at me to eat something. I got up and looked outside my window,across the street at the cafeteria. I visualized walking to the elevator, walking across the street, up the tiny hill, into the cafeteria, grabbing chicken tenders, standing in line, getting to the front to pay, and having to make nice conversation with whichever lovely ex convict lady was there that day. All the staff there was black,and former prisoners , so I tried be extra nice and personable with them at all times. I imagined seeing all these rich white kids whose moms and dads paid for everything, giving them infinite opportunities on a daily basis might have been painful for them. It would be for me. So I did my best to always be the best, I knew they were living vicariously through me. That day however, I couldn’t do it. I knew I wouldn’t even make it to the elevator. so I got back in bed. To this day I'm not sure that I’ve ever come close to feeling as comfortable, at peace, just simply correct as I did when I decided to slide back in bed that afternoon. 

   I realized I’d become that comfortable with always feeling so awful. The human psyche, huh? 

I still think I’ll work hard enough and go as far as I need to, so I can buy a house for my family, and secure my sister’s financial future forever, and then I’ll probably overdose on something. Most likely on my birthday. That feels correct. If I do all that then my life had some worth, I didn’t just come here and be awful and then disappear. 

  I’m afraid and put off by the idea of living for a long time, getting old, having a family, kids, pets, etc. 

I just don’t think it’s for me, I’m not meant for those things. I just know it. 

today, the weather was wonderful. warm and rainy and my coffee is perfectly bitter, just the way I like it. I think some people are just sad, like there’s always this undercurrent of melancholy no matter what I’m doing, what I’m celebrating, where I’m going. I think it’s just like that for some people.

I don’t even know what it is that I’m crying about.

I want to be held, but I won’t let myself be.

I’d better go to sleep, I’ve reached that point again, where i’m thinking of ending things. I hope someone, anyone from my past, calls, or texts, or emails, or sends a letter, or comes and gets me. But there’s no one, I even sunk low enough to try calling my mother, she was asleep.

someone, anyone. i would turn them away anyway.