June 24, 2017.
Was it over already?
The fun? The friendship? Socialization?
I went out of the wall and got hurt real quick and now I ensconced myself back inside that wall again. Refusing to get out again.
Have I make a fucking mistake again? I’m figuratively burying my head in my hands in mixed exasperation and shame.
I can’t even bring it up. I can’t type the details or I’d go rambling like mad, and it’s nicer to just spit it out to let go of the steam or whatever.
I feel too tired and lazy to get out. Even if I just have to just fucking sit on the family car, a few hours of socialization, heck they’re just with family members but I still don’t wanna.
I’m spiraling down the well. I knew. I know. I will.
I’ve cut ties again. I see them and I feel sad or angry or envious.
I’m just wondering how long would it take for me to waste away.
I’m nearing thirty. Well, two and a half years, to be exact.
I’m giving up hope of finding like-minded friends.
I’m giving up trust that I’d find that “zing” with someone.
I’m giving up my old dreams and just trudge on my current path in my career.
I’m just letting them go, letting them flow. Let the torrent of tears wash away everything that so far has only given me pain, until it erode my heart. My heart eroded. My mind washed clean.
I long for the day I’m an empty shell. But fuck it you’ll never know because my persona is so well-fucking-built you’ll never know until you see my eyes and I don’t know if you can peep at something or anything there.
This fucking cycle doesn’t seem to end, does it? I do hope it wear me out eventually.
Can someone really die early with a grievous heartache?
Would I even qualify, this coward who cowers at a paper cut?
This is a drag.
I hope that tiny white furball we adopted grows so fast I could hug him for real after two weeks. This one had made me happy so far.