break the repetition

I don’t feel anything.

Even when I hack into myself, the pain is fleeting and I STILL don’t feel anything.  No shame, no guilt, no pleasure, no release.  Nothing.

All that I ever feel is the vague certainty that there is SOMETHING I should be doing.  Something more.

Everything is so fucking meaningless.  These words are meaningless.  Everything I have ever, or ever will, say is meaningless.

I’m just another body down.  Another fuck up in a society being over run with fuck ups, another pathetic piece of human trash wallowing with the other worthless human disasters.  Why are we so incapable of just getting over ourselves? 

I don’t even take myself seriously.  I’ve been cutting myself for half of my fucking life, and instead of seeing it as a serious problem I just see it as a fucking JOKE.  I AM A FUCKING JOKE, just a caricature, just so much more more more more more than any of you could ever HOPE to be. 

And it doesn’t upset me.  I walk around with a bemused smile on my face, chuckling at the "ethereal pain" of others, because I have been there.  I have been HERE.  I have been here for my entire fucking, worthless, pathetic life.  I AM "ethereal pain", I am angst, I am suffering, I am anguish, I am PATHETIC. 

For all my stoicism, for all my martyrdom, for all my self-sacrifice, I am just a COWARD who is too afraid to continue living and too afraid to end it.  I am a coward, who has settled for a life suspended in time, unable to age, to change, to grow, stuck forever contemplating the next step while everyone else moves on.

But I can’t move on.