I'm sick. So, so sick. I don't even know what my symptoms are, all I know is that things shouldn't be like this. I just keep pushing people away, sometimes without even noticing it. Nobody lives up to my ridiculous standards, and after I get what I want from them, I toss them aside. I say things I don't mean without thinking and screw things up for myself later. I talk in riddles and metaphors, and it makes everything seem so much more trivial. I hate me, for so many things I can't even think of one reason. Yet that hate makes me love me all the more. I thought maybe the people closest to me would know these things, that they could cope with them. But I've been shown to be wrong time and again.

I've said things I now regret, and I feel like a piece of me that was barely hanging on just fell away. I feel lonely, sitting here in front of my computer, knowing that they want nothing to do with me anymore. I don't like what's happened to me. I was so much happier, and it seems like it was so long ago, when it was actually just earlier this year. I felt loved, and wanted, and appreciated. And I reciprocated all those feelings in turn. Later, things quickly unraveled before my eyes, and I didn't even know it at first. I thought it was all done, and that it was over, then life decided I hadn't gone through enough and hit me once more for good measure. And the last one hurt more than all the others combined.

I feel like my life was headed in a positive direction before, but I've somehow lost control, and I'm now teetering back towards the bad. I feel so unmotivated to do anything. Time goes by so quickly, and I barely seem to notice it passing until it's already gone. I just have no clue what to do with myself.

I wanna drop-out and go appreciate the time I have. I'd like to quit my job so I can spend more time with the people who haven't left me. Instead of feeling like I'm putting on a new mask each time I show an emotion, I want to feel unbridled passion about everything. I'd love to leave home so I could party late, and have my music up as loud as I want. I want to be happy. Or at least less miserable, less being little enough that I don't resort to writing emo journals on deviantart so only a few people i don't know too well will read it and I'll feel suitably vented after they give me pity.

If you've read this far (if you're reading this, you know who you are) I want you to know I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so, so, so sorry. I said I wouldn't say that, because I meant everything I said. But just because I meant it doesn't mean I should've said it, especially when I only meant it at the time. We laughed, we cried, we laughed until we cried, we sat and talked about nothing, we admitted our secrets and dreams and desires to each other, and I felt closer to you than pretty much anyone. These past few months, I haven't seen you as much as I would've liked, but you weren't the only one that happened to. But you were always there with me, in my mind. When we did talk, it was just pointless drivel. But it was some of the best pointless drivel I've ever been a part of. Now that you want nothing to do with me, I'd give anything just to talk to you again and talk about stupid shit again, like all those stories we never started or any of those other half-completed plans we had. Now that you're gone I don't know what to do with myself, as if some huge part of me was taken. I wish I could just cry all of this horrible fucking pain away. But even if I could cry about it, I don't think anything this deep could be healed so easily. I didn't think I was this powerless, so weak. Again, I've been proven wrong.

I bet it'd be easier to comment on this if it were comprehensible, and (once it was comprehended) it wasn't so goddamn depressing.