Wanting to go home

I haven't moved outside of my apartment for 5 days. My fridge and pantry are emptier than my heart. I had one piece of bread left that I just ate, then all I have is a pack of noodles and some vegetables, tomato sauce and cream. Oh, and I have frost damaged chicken that's been stored in my freezer for apparently too long. I have too much anxiety to even open my apartment door.

Thinking, hoping that I'll get to my senses by Monday when school yet again starts, so that I can buy some food then too. I'm back to some kind of starvation, but I don't really care about my weight. It's something else. Loss of appetite, loss of care for food and eating. I've only had sandwiches and chocolate for the past week or so.

I'm falling apart and I don't care anymore. Don't care about useless repair, only time can heal me now. I'm dependent on caffeine and nicotine like never before. I might have to force my fat ass out the door tomorrow anyway, cause I'm running out of cigarettes. But I don't even have the energy for pouring up more coffee powder into the jar...

I forget. I forget what life is supposed to be about and I no longer live, I just breathe and my heart is beating on autopilot. Too fucked up to care anymore, too tired to do anything whether it be good or bad. I just draw, write nonsense, think, bitch with Anna, listen to music, play WoW and smoke. Keeping my coffee cup filled to the brim, forgetting to empty my ashtray.

I avoid mirrors again, not liking what I see. It's never entirely been me in them. Just an empty shell. A shell that I feel nothing but hatred, disgust for, that I can't connect to. I feel so detached from myself and everything and everyone around me. I keep almost everyone at a distance, afraid to see my own reflection in them.

I'm afraid of myself, of what hides in my subconscious mind, of my past and future. Of where this now will eventually bring me. My dying hopes have a funeral in my head, always one step ahead. Prepare the graves, just in case, cause my hopes have illnesses that can't be cured. They're too pure. Too pure for a broken world, too dream-like in a world of nightmares, how can they survive?

I stopped believing in my dreams, but they still linger on the doorstep, hesitating to entirely leave. I think I'd miss them, I think I need them. In this world of darkness and destruction, how can anyone survive without hopes and dreams? Maybe they don't have to come true. Yes, yes they do, they need to come true in order to stay alive. Impossible such seem to have an expiration date. I've noticed.

But nothing hurts more than shattered dreams. When the illusion falls to make space for the reality, nothing hurts that much. At least, nothing that I've been through. And it's so fucked up cause it's all in my head! Dreams aren't real, hopes aren't real. It's just my own fucked up mind that keeps creating that stuff for god knows what reason.

I'm so tired of it. Of my inability to live in and appreciate the real world as it is. If I could have it my way, I'd escape it 24/7 and never glance back. I don't want your world, I'd burn it if it was mine.
For everything I see is just ugliness, destruction, darkness. Only things missing is fire and brimstone and you have an actual hell. Just look at it! How can anyone want to live in it? How...? I don't understand why I'm supposed to want to.

Deal. Just deal with it and that's what I've been trying for so long. But I can't find happiness. And after 26 years of the opposite to happiness I no longer believe that I will ever experience it on this planet, in this life. Never, never ever. So what's the point? I wonder, but I have no answer. I've been through too much darkness already, I can't take any more.

I'm giving up on living, but not on being alive. As I said, too tired to do anything and that includes attempting suicide. Maybe that's not exactly what you wanted to hear me say, but it's what I've got. It's the truth and I'm sick of lying. Without K, my life feels so very meaningless, it's like someone took my away all the shimmer, contrasts, colours and shapes all at once. Dealing, how does one even do that when everything feels so completely meaningless?

I guess I already know the answer. It's continue doing what you always do, even if it feels pointless. Like drawing, isn't that like the most useless thing? Sure, it keeps some of my anxiety in place, but it's doing nothing else. It has no purpose. My anxiety isn't a wild animal that can be tamed, it's a fucking monster and won't follow any orders. I don't believe that my shrink has a cure, it's stupid. I will meet my demise with anxiety, I just know it. Cause I forgot to care about ever getting better.

Better from what exactly? It's in my personality, it's a wiring gone wrong in my brain, it's my nature and the way it's always been. I'm not sick, I can't be cured. That's not the kind of mental illness that I have. I believe I was the same person in Dala, only that world was vastly different than this and I never suffered simply because it was a utopia.

So, I don't believe that hell is a place you bring with you wherever you go. People saying that obviously don't have a heaven to compare with. I've been cursed somehow, and sure I bring my hell with me in this life, but that's only because of the curse. And how handicapped I feel beyond what is actually wrong with me. Handicapped in a way that I've lost precious abilities that I had in Dala. It feels like an amputation of sorts. If I knew what that felt like, of course.

I miss myself, who I was before I came here. Ideally, yes I was the same person, but everything was so different. I was complete. I was complete in so many different aspects. I can't go on any longer about this. It tears up wounds inside my soul if I think too much about Dala. Maybe it was never even real, just me lucid dreaming as a very young child. Wouldn't that be the perfect punishment for me? Take away the only dream that I never lost and deem it unreal.

If I die and get the news that Dala was never real, would I be able to cry? I don't trust my god anymore, he gave false hopes and empty promises, acted like a hallucination that came and went and his voice sounded like my own thoughts. But what if it's all true, everything he's told me? I still can't trust him, it's tearing me apart. Once again, all over again.

And I dream of my perfect paradise, my world of forsaken wonder, my heaven and utopia. I dream of reaching some kind of nirvana and an end to this fucked up journey jumping from body to body, from universe to universe, from one life to another. My soul is tired and I've had enough. I just want to go home and stay there forever. And I mean forever this time, until time no longer exists.

The only place I want to be, but not knowing if I'll actually go back there or if it was even real, I hesitate to end my life here. It's less than 50% chance of me going there, considering what many other options there seem to be. Stop it, stop it! I tell myself and ram my fist into the desk, as I try to make myself stop rambling about Dala. It's gone. Why can't I ever understand that?

Breathe life into me and give me a reason to stay. I stray and find myself obsessed. By the thoughts of death, Dala, suicide and heartbreak. It was a bad day, I never imagined it could get worse. It always can, but alas it always can.