the expectations i set for myself are so high, yet i look around and i cant help but think that everyone else sets the bar so low for me. i get applause for not hurting myself, for getting out of bed before noon on weekends, for not being a massive cunt to my boyfriend because im petty and jealous that he makes over double my salary now (and im still being petty and jealous, and i just cant fucking stop).
sometimes it feels like nothing is expected out of me, that i exist as a translucent ghost, half there but half not. im sleepwalking through life, stumbling along the way with lack of direction and fear of the future. maybe nothing fucking matters and were all destined to be unhappy and unsatisfied with ourselves.
is this the downfall of humanity?
i expect more out of myself – my life has to mean more than this. otherwise whats the fucking point?
i had more purpose to my life at 17 than i do now, and its just shitty knowing that i might have passed my peak already (while also severely depressed but at least i was helping people via tumblr), and all the future holds is the dreaded fall.
why does anything matter?
why does it matter if im the skinniest in the room, if my stories are more mesmerizing than everyone elses, if i can be a siren to those tinder boys from years ago who have continued to crawl back on all fours? does it even matter that my words (breakups are best done through text) can shatter others, and i just laugh as they grasp for pieces?
it all matters to me – everything matters. and the competitive demon in my brain bitches at me to win despite the cost.
but im never going to live up to what i want.
want-want-want – its all so selfish really. maybe im selfish (and so fucking materialistic), because im not enough and i feel inferior compared to everyone else.
my boyfriend wants me to celebrate the small successes – not wanting to kill myself after working in the office today (unlike yesterday); starting a new therapist despite how much i adored my old one; surviving my weekend work conference despite being a hot mess while getting completely plastered on the tour bus, resulting in me vomiting in front of everyone.
he encourages me to pursue new work opportunities, try out my field in the entertainment industry, search for a more corporate work environment – but i dont know if thatll make me happy.
i scoff at the blind optimism, that everything will magically “work out” one day. and whenever it is (happiness or at least content), it feels so fucking far.
im never going to amount to much, and im telling him to accept that. ill just float, in my make believe world, where feelings dont exist and everything is numb – the only time silence is desired.
i think my thoughts are destroying me. i think im destroying myself, my relationship, but i cant stop it.
sometimes i think everyone just lies to me to keep me happy because lets be honest, ive been volatile like a loose canon for the past month or so (probably longer but more consistently these days). no one quite knows what to expect with me anymore, and i think something is wrong with me.
i cant stop lashing out, having complete meltdowns and ugly cries behind closed doors; yet some moments are ok, and everything feels stable for a second despite all the sudden changes. but honestly, all the days are hard.
i tend to hold back unless there is a guarantee of success – say its my fear of rejection, the privileged life i was given but also the competition i was faced with (and traumatized by). im afraid of the truth, and itd break me to find out that im complete shit at something thats so important to me, something i love.
i dont want to say i love writing (i guess i do, and as a former tumblr girl, im just retreating to old ways in this bout of depression). it means too much to me.
and i dont want to ruin it (yet here i am). jokes on me, i guess.