mutt

But each time I try, it doesn't matter. Because you don't care that much. Maybe I'll stop caring, but a little of it eats my innards when I try to fool myself I shouldn't either. I will never understand how a person couldn't care.

But what hurts is that I care. I care so much, an unfathomable amount compared to you. And listening to you speak, the stories you tell, the responses you give, I know you don't care at all. I can't accept that, not at all. I think if I care harder then you'll care too.

You're doing a good job.

As I've done before, as I will do now, and as I will do for the rest of my life.

Like a pencil that can't be sharpened and can't write nor erase. I can't do it. I really can't do it. I beg so much, I beg endlessly and I grovel and I grovel and I grovel... but it won't stop it. It won't stop at all. And I'll sit here and I'll barrel through the emotion.

And like my tears, I can't ever stop writing this post. I don't want to. Because what I can do, whatever I CAN do, at least helps the pain a little. Writing this stops my tears from streaming out, and I'm afraid the moment I post this it'll all rush again and I'll feel like a dull point.

I wish my voice, the memory of my personality, my name was all erased and everyone forgot everything I was. I wish I could go without a question of where, I wish I could live without a thought forming in my burned out brain and I could just drift meaninglessly.

I can't, I don't ever want to feel like this again, I don't ever want to hear another voice again. I don't ever want to see another message from a single soul in my life ever again. I don't want anything at all, I don't even want to perceive anything.

It keeps mixing and it keeps going and just now, even writing this, thinking about her and what she's going through and how I can't help and the desperation I feel all day, and how badly I wished I was believed and how badly it hurts, I can't do it anymore.

...I can't shoulder it anymore. It's like my eyes shut completely, and opening them means more pain. It all fills up and it just keeps filling up and when I eventually open my eyes again to look around all the hate and the tears and the hope all evaporates all at once and it all mixes.

And the tears keep flowing, and the tears don't ever stop. And I can't ever keep it under control, and I just cry. And I cry and I cry and I cry and I hate and I cry and I hate and I cry. And somewhere between the crying and the hate and the sadness and desperation and pleading to myself...

It burns. I hate it. It burns. I hate it. The tears streaming down my face burn so much and they keep flowing and I keep hating it. And I keep hating it and I cry even more, and I cry even more and more tears keep flowing. And I keep hating. I hate and I hate and I hate and I hate. I keep hating.

I can truly walk my earth and enjoy being awake, enjoy being alive. Enjoy it all.

I don't know what to do, but I am so happy. So happy that tears hotter than lava are streaming down my face and burning my eyes. So happy that for once in my life I don't feel tied by anything, that everything is an afterthought and I can truly live.

It's like my brain is frying itself inside out trying to formulate words and phrases so I can speak, but my emotions are like a constricting snake around my body and I'm being smothered in some disgusting beast.

I feel so happy I could cry. My heart has a sharp pain, my eyes burn. I don't know what to do with all this joy and relief and happiness. I can't bear this all, I just feel like I'm burning like a thousand degrees and it won't stop. I don't know what this is like.

I'm trying to ground myself but even just that is so much at once. I see things in the walls. I can't look at them as just that, I can't keep my eyes open. My body shakes all over, like I'm running a fever. But there's nothing wrong, there's no reason I should be like this.

Even now, writing, speaking, thinking of these words is difficult. They're getting choked up in my throat, and anything you hear feels like burning vomit. I'm sitting on the edge of my bed and I'm looking around my dark room and I'm thinking about the distance between the walls and me.

I'm sorry I can't listen to a thing you're saying. If I let your words touch me, no matter what they are, they'll burn through my skin. I'm not sure I want anything near me right now. Please don't take it so personally, it doesn't have to do with you.

I should just play 'for fun' and get my soul out of caring so much. Curse me for learning.

Can I please just play something with someone who can keep up, or atleast share the desire to know or have the knowledge of intracacies I do? God, I feel so isolated sometimes. I feel like a full genuine fucking loser for applying myself as much as I do.

I'm tired of it, really. Maybe they do care and maybe I'm blind to it, but I feel like I'm whittling myself down trying to pull things together, like I try my best to keep things up and still it isn't enough. I feel like I have to keep explaining things, keep guiding people.

One of my more selfish desires is that I wish someone would play the games I play like me. I love my friends, I love playing with them, I wouldn't ever say no to a hang out. But... god I can't. I feel like they don't care as much as I do, to the extent I do.

My love is life, my life I love.

It's another piece I'm throwing to the maw.

save apart of my head from exploding. Instead, I'm like the sun. Forget to respond, well I hold my hand up to the sun and the intense and unbearable heat starts scorching away at that concern and soon disintegrates. Same for the other. The Sun isn't good for me.

I don't know when this changed, but this no longer happens. If I forget to send a message, well fuck, the moment passed. Oh well. If I send a message quickly and I don't get one back, fuck you, whatever. I adjusted. I didn't adjust well. Not to what the new part of it is like, even if it helps

I remember. I used to get so wrung out when I saw that I had a message, and I hadn't responded. Or that I responded so quickly and they aren't. It used to stress me so, so bad. Constant checking, horrible guilt, making sure I didn't miss anything else.

I'm digging a hole and I'm asking you to look. Whether you look or comment on it does not matter. I am also able to get out of the hole.

I can't do this. I don't want to, and I've been running on fumes for longer than I haven't.