My dreams swept into the dustbin, and me along with them…

I got a job.

Lately I find myself crying over nothing and I can’t stop.
I know it’s just depression.
My mom suggested I take something for it.
At three different points in my life I’ve taken anti-depressants because of problems with anxiety.
Sure, I’m a naturally sullen person, but that didn’t change while I was on them.
Each time, I talked like a flapper on a duck’s ass…even more so than usual.
I couldn’t sleep.
And I experienced more suicidal thoughts.
I don’t think it’s wise for me to go down that road again.
And as taking pills won’t change where I am in my life, it’s not as if pain would go away by my taking them.

I know that losing Chloe is part of it.
Residual pain of feeling useless from not having a job is part of it.
But it is now accompanied by a new pain of feeling like a failure, a feeling that this will be my life, a feeling that I will live, die…and my name will be forgotten.
I can write while I work to be sure, but it’s the acting and singing part which causes me pain.
I want to perform.
I’ve always wanted to perform.
I want to write indie dramas which would make people examine the human condition…their own lives.
And I want to act in them.

But the older I get, the harder it’ll be for this to happen.
I’ll only be 23 next month and I feel like…that’s it.
It’s too late.

I have to keep this job because no one in my life believes in me and I would never ask that anyone else be forced to support me in my pursuits.
I don’t ask and no one answers.
And if I did, no one would answer.

I am lost.
Not in the way that so many others are lost…for I know where I want to go.
I’m lost because I can’t find how to get there.
I’m lost because this love is as important as any other and I live without it.
Shall I abide in this dull world which in its absence is no better than a sty?

"Amid the sufferings of life on earth, suicide is God’s best gift to man."

You can be sad as you want to.
No one can punish me like I do.



In youth, we are much more easily satisfied. With age comes an unquenchable thirst for things, a wanting which can slowly eat us up.
When I remember my first love, I recall feeling like I'd be happy as long as we were married, feeling like I would need nothing else. Eight years later, this sentiment is gone, although my feelings for him remain. I have found a new love, yet one which does not diminish the first, but this romantic love could never restrain a more mature wanting...the desire to be my own person and to have my own purpose. The people I love and my desired course can only coexist peacefully when they encourage my ambition. And to me, that is a true sign of their affection.
I have heard it said that "Ambition is the ice in the lake of emotion," and that may sometimes be true, but it is a dangerous generalization. If pursuing the goal of being the person you believe you were meant to be is selfish, then I don't want to be anything but. However, to me becoming this person, the best person you can be, is proof of love.
I now believe it is possible to be ambitious and still love completely.
I now believe that it is possible to be in love with more than one person at a time.
I no longer wish to marry.
"How time distorts things."

Lately I've been thinking about how conceited people are self-centered, but in their own way, self-loathers aren't much different. Both types of people make everything about themselves, whether inadvertently or intentionally.
Having a tendency towards self-loathing myself, I've noticed an uncontrollable, paranoia which comes in waves, the feeling that everyone hates being around me. Only recently did I realize that reading into every little thing, the slightest unintentional insult, a person's mere absence, reading into these things and making them about myself is self-centered. And as part of the reason I hate myself is my potent desire to not be one of those people who loves myself too much, this is something I hope to avoid in the future.

We are complicated creatures, but we must never cease our efforts to truly understand ourselves.

To vanish into oblivion is easy to do.

Sometimes I think I can feel myself disappearing.
I know some people don't like to think about the fact that every moment that passes is another they can't get back, that they're a moment closer to their own demise, but sometimes I think I can feel it.
I can feel myself winding down and getting to that place where people don't think of you every day anymore, where not one person does.
Nobody calls me.
No one sends me a message, an e-mail, or a letter.
I don't see anybody, no one sees me.
I don't hear anybody.
Nobody hears me.

I'm alone most of the time and it's starting to wear me down.
I don't feel like sleeping until I do, and then I don't feel like getting up.
I don't have an appetite.
It was 3pm before I had anything to eat today and even then I didn't feel hungry.
I never have a reason to go anywhere, but when a reason comes up, I don't want to go out.

The things that I love and the people who don't love me back don't seem enough to sustain me anymore.
I think about people all day long and nobody thinks about me and I've reached a point where I don't want to think about them either.
Deep down in the pit of my stomach I feel myself dying and I wish I'd do it faster.

I have a job interview tomorrow and I'm hoping for a chance to do something...anything that would get me out of the house.
But at the end of the day nobody cares about me and even though I've tried to deny that it was important for years, I wish somebody did, just one person.
Because I'm in a lot of pain all the time and the more it hurts to smile, the more I think it's not going to go away.
I'm too good at wanting, but I'm never gonna be what I want and I'm never gonna be the thing someone else wants.
I wish I had the guts not to be anymore.