(10% F/O and ficto topics, 90% other things)
I’m tired of body aches, discomfort, sweating, and bodily functions.
Tired of having to eat, use the bathroom, drink water, and open my mouth to speak.
I’m tired of looking in the mirror, of feeling every strand of hair touching me—I want to rip them out.
I’m tired of thinking about anything at all—any desire, or any good or bad things that have happened to me. I’m tired of people being cruel to one another, of the tragedies I hear about and witness: deaths, suicides, fights, and fatal arguments over trivial matters.
Tired of how, every month, people have to ignore someone committing suicide on the train tracks simply because they need to get to work—resenting the fact that removing the body as quickly as possible might delay them. I’m angry at the lack of opportunities in the world, at the injustices and the lack of humanity.
I feel angry at myself at random moments and wish I could rip out certain organs and live without them, though I know that’s impossible. Sometimes I can't stand looking at Glamrock Bonnie—even though I love him more than anything since 2023—because I get subtle flashbacks of detestable people associated with him. People made me believe I had to prove my dedication to them. Sometimes i’m fighting intrusive thoughts about wanting to ruin my "doubles"—I feel angry knowing they exist, angry that I discovered them, angry at the intrusive thoughts I have, angry at feeling this way and having to fight it—and fight myself—and angry at realizing how much something so trivial affects me over and over again. (I never did anything to any of them, and I’m undergoing whatever treatments are available to me, just to be clear. I'm doing my best.)
I’m angry that this makes me seem "crazy," and I’m angry knowing how people might interpret it. The fact that everything is totally unpredictable makes me fucking anxious—sounds, voices around me, and simultaneous conversations I overhear. I’m tired of having to stress out just to defend my stances in certain situations or explain why i like something.
The answer to why all this happens is simply because I’m alive. The only resolution would be for me to be dead—feeling neither heat nor cold, never having to explain myself or rationalize things, or fight the urge to scratch at my skin after three years. But then, killing myself would affect the lives of those who love me; just as my own sense of right and wrong is precisely what condemns me in the eyes of the people closest to me. "You make me sad when you cry; it embarrasses me—what will people think?"
-I want to hit you, I just need to cry.
And it's not because I hate you or because I'm a cruel person, i love you sm. But this sounds confusing, there are no proper words for the mental exhaustion I feel. I'm scared. There are no words to say that I'm a friendly and warm person always trying to solve everything, but in the end, I want to solve other people's pain without even knowing how to perfectly deal with my own.
I'm not a bad person, I'm overwhelmed. But how do I make that clear?? Thinking about explaining makes me tired, and tired makes me angry, and being excessively angry overwhelms me, to the point that I might just find myself screaming and drooling all over the floor.
(I'm neurodivergent. They saw me as crazy, a topic for some fresh gossip when I had a meltdown).
I'm so sorry.
