Zero

The days seem to mesh together. What days? Every day goes by so quickly, and it feels like one constant cycle. I don’t know if I’m living or hibernating. The auto-pilot seems to be on. I don’t feel home. I haven’t had one real creative thought in my head. There’s this emptiness that looms somewhere around the lungs, and it stays for what seems a lifetime. I don’t know if I’m coming or going. I just feel empty most of the time. I’m on the outside of my full potential. It’s kind of like a two-way mirror, but I can’t see the other side. Only myself. I loathe. The bags under my eyes are a constant reminder of my lack of sleep/gloomy state.

I try to fill my void with reasons to be happy, but they all turn to dust by day’s end. I’m left, on the top floor of a parking garage, watching the skyline as twilight sets in. I want there to be more out there. I want the pendulum to start swinging in my direction. My happiness. I want it to stick for once. I want to know what it’s like to be on top of the world again. I want that excitement. I want to anxiously wait for something. Maybe for someone. The traffic flows by like ants. There are billions of people out there. I wonder what it’s like to be any one of them. Just for a few moments. Just to see what it’s like to live. What it’s like to be happy.

The world feels small when no one wants to be your friend at the moment you need it most. I see them scatter to do their own things, and I’m left standing at a crosswalk, not sure which way to go. I keep hoping someone would come along and ask me to hang out with them. I feel small. Useless. Worthless to an extent. I hate being alone. I continually try to avoid it. I’ve fucked people, and they’re off fucking other people. I wanted to feel a connection, but I got nothing in return. 

Nothing. I’m an outsider. An outlier to human existence. I was made fun of both for my personal narrative script and my embarrassment toward it by a classmate. I hate being personal among other people. It’s embarrassing. Personal. I was brought up to not talk about feelings. I feel as if I’m in a group therapy session. I scoff and wonder why I can’t open up. What’s the worse that could happen? Thrown into a psych hospital, I suppose. I sound crazy most of the time. I am crazy. I realise why I can’t hold down friends. I realise why I could never be in a relationship. I’m too screwed up. Emotional. I try not to be, but I just am. Why would anyone want to put up with that? Why would anyone want to stick around for such a burden? I see everyone else connecting and making friends and creating relationships, and I’m stuck sitting by myself, not socializing, but hoping I could be like them.

I’m nearly twenty-three, and I feel like I’ve done nothing with my life. Nothing at all. Odds of me doing something with my life? Probably zero.