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Expression means something different to everyone: Some dance, some sing, some write, and some draw. I do all of these things. I find it soothing; therapeutic. Lately, I have been feeling unable to express myself properly which has caused me to be somewhat apathetic. I can feel the joy fading from me as the light dies from my eyes.
I start to not care about anything or anyone at all; I just become a hollow shell of a person. I feel nothing at all. There's no point in anything anymore. Sleep is the only purpose. Words string together and not make any sense. I can't create properly. Everything I create is tainted and rough.
Feeling is no longer the correct remedy. Everything is wrong. I want to scream, kick, and shout but that wouldn't solve anything. I'm hopeless. I want to just go into a deep sleep and fade into the blackness; darkness eternal. I am alone and not understood. My mind has collapsed and my body with it.
I feel like have no purpose in the world; I am not useful to anyone, all I do is damage and destroy. I feel absolutely nothing, I just let the world crumble into chaos and darkness around me; becoming one with it. Everything is connected through atoms and if you become nothing, like the Earth, you feel nothing and you have nothing but darkness consuming you.
I've been feeling this way for the past year or so. I have no friends anymore, I overdosed and spiraled down and they all either didn't understand or just faded away. I am alone. All I have is my work that I have created, and nothing to show from it. Money is usually how people can gauge progress, I have none.
Everything that I have created lies on a flash drive five feet from my laptop. If in the correct hands, perhaps it could be exchanged for money. But that requires connections and resources, which I have none. I am alone, and I will most likely die this way.
I'm getting medication soon, in a few week's time. I have already decided that I am going to take it. I'm probably going to reach out to a couple of my "friends" on Tumblr, persuade them to tip me enough so I can at least get a bottle of wine.
I'm going to rent one of my favorite films, I want to finish both bottles, and fade into the world. This is how I want to go, this is peace to me. I used to be able to see into the future. My life flashing before my eyes. Now I see nothing. Tomorrow is not assured. Each day I awaken more alone and colder than the next: I no longer classify myself as human.
I feel as if I don't do anything correctly. My feelings are incorrect, my dancing is incorrect, my budget making skills are incorrect. I can't afford to go to college, I can't afford to do anything productive with my life. I'm useless and fading into society without making a single dent in it. When I leave this world, I will have left behind nothing but a single flash drive.
I already created a will entrusting a single person to all of my belongings. Last time I overdosed, I wanted to secure my passing; this may sound strange to you, but I created one when I was seven. Fading into the world, becoming one with Hell, Heaven, Earth, and everything. As a schizophrenic, I see the world differently: everyone is an enemy, everyone will betray or hurt me.
I have no allies, I have no friends, I have no family I talk to. The only companion I have is my stuffed animal panda. Sometimes I think I hear him speak to me, but I'm not sure if it's because of my schizophrenia or because I haven't been able to leave the house in ages; most likely both.
I don't want to live like this anymore, I can't take another day in my own mind, in my own body. I'm in a constant state of pain, and even writing doesn't ease it. Writing only makes me feel like I have an outlet, like I'm not just left alone with my thoughts. I want someone to come into my life and tell me that everything is going to be okay, that I'm not alone.
No one will. No one cares that much about me; I learned that at the emergency room. Alone, cold, and dying not once, not twice, but three separate times. My view has forever changed. My heart blackened, my soul with it. Everything is black. I want to embrace the demons, despite my fear. I want to embrace them and arise stronger and better.
At the same time, I don't. Doing so would only force me to fight harder, to live. I don't want to anymore. I'm exhausted. My mother has already blocked me from my last ER visit. As if that weren't enough, she moved two states away, abandoning her firstborn yet again. My father still thinks I'm an abomination, my grandmother tolerates me at best. Today she told me that she's gonna help me get my car back up and running so that I can at least leave.
She also said that I'm making her anxiety act up. I'm a problem, I'm always going to be a problem. Just like math, the only way to erase a problem is by taking it out of the equation. At twenty-two, the only way for me to stop being a problem is for me to stop living all together...