I am being eaten alive by various forms of angst. It is almost fungal. I am grateful for my lack of toe-nail fungus. For any and all kinds of fungus. I am grateful for many  things, yet here I am, again. I feel like this is only the beginning. I feel like a whirlwind of mental health hell is yet to befall me. I feel as though I’ve opened Pandora’s Box, unknowingly. Or maybe knowingly. Isn’t this what I’ve always wanted, to a degree, proof that I was as wild, as insane as I felt I was, or would become? I’ve always known this would happen. I’ve always known I was different, that I was prone to these things. That I would explore this side of life quite intimately. It was an unspoken knowledge within myself. I almost feel paranoid. I do not want to see anyone. I do not feel loving. I feel stormy and sad and antisocial. And angry, a little. It’s a strange combo or sad and angry. It’s like my heart is empty, and all I have are now are bloodless eyes, seeing the world without feeling it. All my feelings are almost just states, there’s no feeling left in them. It is not numb, it is a void. I am devoid of human sentiment, but I am not a sociopath. I am just distanced. Imagine being a sociopath. I was always fascinated by serial killers as a child. That’s telling, isn’t it? It is very hard to make new friends. It is very hard to meet people you can share your life with. I want more of that. I am lonely. I have great friends, but my love of people is large. I am very much like a dog. Except this apathy washes over me sometimes, though our family dog was depressed at times. What a sweet creature. We didn’t deserve him. My love of dogs grows stronger every day, it seems. Yes, with the further I go into mental angst, my love of dogs grows in every direction. They have four legs, tails, and open, loving eyes. Woof indeed. I want someone to reach inside of me and pet my innards, to comfort them. Who can comfort my innards? Maybe rolling on the floor would help. I miss class. I miss theatre school. I worked so hard to get where I am, and now I cannot take part in it. It is sad, and frustrating. Suppose everything happens for a reason- and I have to believe it does, or I’ll really lose it- then what is this all about?

I am gassy today. Now I’m depressed and stinky. Eyore and Pumba. Ha ha. There is always some small joy to be had, even if it is fart related. Gotta take what you get. If anything, I suppose I can be shameless. Honest. I feel like my mom said that to me a lot, “Have you no shame?”, or something along those lines. Piety is important for Indians. To me, at times. Everything at times.


About Undecided Pseudonym

A woman who remembers enjoying writing.
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