doll

[mitternacht4610]

Ah, it all feels so silly once I've slept. Good grief. I can be so dramatic. No wonder it is exhausting.

[mitternacht4610]

It really is so silly. Such a silly, silly existence. My whole life, whole existence, dedicated to what? Being a husband and a father? And that means nothing. Every time push comes to shove, he speaks of feeling alone, of all of the holes and emptiness and gaps I leave in my inadequacy. My entire being, dedicated to one sole purpose, and still, inadequacy; infinite, vapid, bottomless inadequacy.

What is there? Truly. It doesn't matter what I do, what I don't, what I think, what I feel, anything anything nothing nothing nothing.

I'll stop thinking... I've already whited out so much of myself. My power, my identity, my feelings, my personality. Very little remains, so it will not be much of a change, much less a loss.

Just going through the motions. It all means nothing. Just like years of chasing after Her meant nothing, my life of devotion, five-hundred years being torn apart by chaos no other being could survive being subjected to and coming out with my devotion and dedication unchanged, all thrown away in a heartbeat.

Not that I am supposed to have that either. Haha.

So what am I, now? After it all? An existence defined entirely by failure. I've never succeeded at anything in my life.

Hahaha... How funny. Now, in this fuzzy feeling I have, it should hurt, but instead I just feel this strange fizzy feeling in my chest, bubbling up and making me want to laugh. Involuntary. It's all so funny. Isn't it funny? If it were outside of myself; if I were someone other than this, looking in, I would think this thing was so pathetic. I'd kill it immediately to put it out of its misery and think nothing of it.

But here I am instead. I am the worthless insect, writhing on the floor, all all all in vain. Everything, always, in perpetuity - in vain.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

[mitternacht4610]

It is all so pointless. All of these stupid, meaningless little thoughts, feelings. They're no good, and if he can hear them, that is all the more reason to forget.

And yet, I cannot shake the one feeling in particular.

I do not recognize myself when I look in the mirror.

I tilt my head and try to change it, as if that will change anything. As if something will shift, and it will change back into what or whoever "I" am.

It never comes. I feel alien inside my own body. Oh well. It is nothing new.

Is it a product of the aimlessness? There is no cause, no purpose, for anything I am or do as of now. It simply is. I simply am. I suppose many normal living things long for such a thing; find joy and peace and satisfaction in being allowed to simply be.

I am not such a creature. I feel restless. I feel my grip on identity, reality itself, slipping more and more each continuous day of nothing I endure.

I don't understand where or what or who or why I am. Ahh.

[mitternacht4610]

It doesn't feel all that different from hurting myself, thinking about it. Running through a list in my mind of all the things he's said. I know I am not supposed to, not allowed to. It is something he resents me for. Sometimes it stops me, sometimes it is added to the list. Similarly to physical, sometimes it hurts, sometimes it feels as if floating past me. Now feels like the latter.

[mitternacht4610]

It was nice while it lasted.

[mitternacht4610]

I want the release so, so, so painfully badly. To be tied up utterly immobile and hit until I bleed. Thinking about how badly I want it makes me want to sob. I need it, I think.

[mitternacht4610]

I just do not really feel anything. I feel numb, I suppose. I don't feel like anything. Just laying still and staring ahead.

I would feel like this before, as well. When I was left alone at home. I would stare and bite absently and try to fill the space somehow. I would watch things whenever I ran out of work to do, or sometimes not even that, just staring.

It doesn't feel much different now.

[mitternacht4610]

So you can look at them like a disgusting alien?

So you can look at them like a disgusting alien?

[mitternacht4610]

I'll never have a peaceful month, but that is okay.

[mitternacht4610]

Cutting off pieces of myself over and over until I am as smooth and inoffensive as possible. Twisting myself into different shapes until I am unrecognizable in a futile effort to become something one can love without pain. Something that is not an endless poison.

I can convince myself this doesn't matter. It is not hard to stop thinking.

[mitternacht4610]

I have been thinking about how I used to be so angry and volatile. I still am, really. I just don't express it anymore. I've now seen what happens if I ever dare to let it out, so I know better than ever that I cannot. I've known that I cannot. I've known all it does is make me into something people loathe. I have noticed that the lack of and change in my energy has made me significantly sadder and significantly less angry, which is probably the larger factor, even if only by a slight margin.

I keep thinking about him saying, "I sort of resent it sometimes. That you're the 'better' version. What people expect when someone is going through something hard." Am I? Is that what I have become? Something more pitiable? I certainly wasn't before. I tried to kill myself and anyone who got too close. I was a beast and a natural disaster. I don't think... ahh, whatever. I understand what he meant, I think. I just don't know how to feel about it.

I don't know how to feel about a lot of things he said. I'm going to stop thinking about it again.

[mitternacht4610]

I don't know what I even am anymore. I've cut so many pieces of myself down to try and fit in this box. Yet it's never enough.

What even am I anymore? What at all? I feel like a flattened, empty shell of my former self. It all feels so meaningless. Pointless. I feel vacant.

Maybe it's because I don't even know what the box is. This human society? Being a husband? A father? A good person? I don't know how to be any of these things. I keep trying to excise the rot, to fit expectations, but it never works out.

I know I am not supposed to think of "fixing" things. But it is undeniable that I have to change. To fit here. It isn't a bad thing, necessarily, but it remains that I don't know who or what I am in these changes.

I know, factually, that my existence before was meaningless. But I miss the sense of purpose I had, however misguided. It filled me up. It made me feel alive.

Now there is just this hole where it once was. I think that is the problem. Everyone can see it, feel it. That's why I am so hollow to them.

It's my fault for not being able to fill it up.

I don't know if I will ever get those pieces back. If they're even worth getting back.

I miss when my religion meant anything.

[mitternacht4610]

I don't know how to be good enough. I don't know what to do when I am trying the hardest I possibly can without breaking the rules by changing myself too much or lying and it's never never never never enough. No matter what I do... No matter how hard I try, no matter how much effort I put in, it still apparently appears as if I am doing nothing. As if I am not present. As if he has to do this alone. As if he cannot rely on me because I am never okay.

I don't know how to be okay. I don't know what more I can do. I don't know what I am supposed to do.

I suppose I just continue to do my best. And.. hope it works, someday. Hope that eventually it will finally be enough.

It seems that never in my life have I been enough. My entire life, in every single thing, I fall short in some way or another. Never acknowledged. Never gratified.

[mitternacht4610]

Nothing feels real.

[mitternacht4610]

I really should just be dead.

There is nothing more to say.

[mitternacht4610]

How funny to fuck it all up again as soon as the hour crosses over into the next month. Whatever. Maybe this means it is so early as to earn a reset. It doesn't count. I can still make it.

[mitternacht4610]

I don't like thinking about them loving me. I don't know why.