Feeling lost; feeling somehow like I'm not alive. It's clear and all too obvious that there's something wrong with me; that I need a therapist as soon as possible. I've checked into it... Still no luck. I have no clue where to start or who to see. If I'm not being put on a waiting list of "unknown" length, I'm busy worrying whether or not someone will even accept my insurance. Or will I have to drain my tiny savings account again just to try and find someone who might be able to show me a path to a place where I can finally escape my torment?
I've wasted my life trying to not let people down. I've thrown it all away trying to live up to their expectations; and because I have a fucked-up need for everyone to like me... or at least not think I'm a dick.
I've become as cold and dead on the inside as I've felt on the outside for decades. More and more, I'm fed up with the idea of birthdays. It's too much for me to try and remember anymore. I can't keep up. I've always felt cards are bullshit; more insincere than ignoring the day completely. At least my forgetfulness is sincere. The lame, generic words written by some failed novelist are not. And gifts? What the fuck kind of twisted, egomaniacal person actually expects gifts from others? Isn't just being alive to see another year gift enough? If there's something you want that badly, just open up your wallet and pay for it yourself, you materialistic douche. Let the people you claim to care about do things more productive in their lives. Birthdays mean nothing. Old is a state of mind.
Another thing that's been pissing me off... What is this need people have to post notes on Facebook about their anniversaries? It's their passive-aggressive way to plead for comments of: "Oh, you're such a beautiful couple!", etc, etc, etc... It's just a desperate cry for attention. Plus, they want others to be envious. They honestly do. Especially the people who have no one. This is who these posts hurt the most. But they will never care... Not as long as they get a couple of "likes".
Oh, and I don't care about your kids. There, I said it. And for the record, yes, I do feel better. You might as well have posted pictures of random people you met on the street that day. I'd hold the same level of interest. "Oh, you don't have kids. When you do, you'll understand.", they'd say. I say I will never have kids, so this conversation is pointless. ... And I still don't care about your precious offspring. Not until they do something worth caring about.
I know, there's something wrong with my brain. I don't know why, or when it was damaged. I only know that it was. And I suppose this is my desperate cry.
The truth is, I'm losing touch with knowing the person I actually am. I can be many people in the course of a day, and I don't know who the real one is anymore. Then again, I often feel like none of them are real at all; that I only continue pretending my way through life, day after day. Perhaps someday I can finally discover who I am. This is my hope. Until then, it only means that nobody else in this world can ever know.