I have lost absolutely everyone.
I’m indulgent in capacious amounts of self pity.
I would rather retreat to the small of my closet or nestle in blankets that smell entirely too much of my skin.
Any motivation I might have goes into trying to give my day an ounce of purpose, which it never ends up having.
I deposit my bag in the far corner of my room, secluded. It will stay there all night. Until I wake. We’re on the repeat cycle.
Everything is blended and the only happy I feel is synthetic.
People help me forget how low I have sunken and distract me from the constant dragging of my thoughts and feet.
But when I get back down to the nitty and gritty of it, I am reminded that I hate everything that I am.
And I can never control when this absolutely pathetic person comes out and it’s horrible. It’s horrible how I will leave people in the dust, waiting for me to come back and I won’t. I will be gone just as quickly as I came, with the breeze that rolled in through the window.
I am in and out and almost gone.
