It’s Friday afternoon and I can’t wait for tonight. It’s the only day of the week that I feel less guilty on doing so much nothingness. I would usually just read a book or watch a movie or watch a tv show, or learn to play something and it’s gonna be that and I’d have the best time. Lately nothing makes me feel much.
I feel unreasonably tired these days. I’m too tired to get up, too tired to lay down, too tired to concentrate on things I loved to do, sometimes I’m even too tired to sleep. Other times I would hit a sleep streak of 16 hours and I would wake up feeling more tired. I sometimes think that maybe I’m tired of life. But I feel guilty whenever I think of that. I never liked thoughts like that because it would be unfair to the ones that makes me happy. They’re the reasons why I always try not to give in to my run-downs. So basically I’m sticking around because I’m too shy to die. And as impossible as it may seems, maybe they’re somehow counting on me too.
If I am my 18-year old self, I’d be destructive by now. Me being tired definitely incorporates with this little scare and paranoia that maybe it’s a pattern, it’s a loop, maybe I’ll eventually get back to that phase and if that happens, I don’t know if I can make it again this time. A part of me still tries to convince myself that I’m never going back to the void. It was almost impossible to get off that abyss. I don’t ever wanna go back.
I feel like a volcano on the verge of erupting and I don’t know what my insides are made of. Maybe it’s made of everything and nothing at all. What makes it harder would be the fact that it’s not because of the things that comes with it, maybe it’s how there is nothing.
I always get tired of considering myself. I’m much better lover of the world. I just think that it’s not wise to try to consider myself again, I will be just too kind to myself. I will be selfish. I just want things to stop and go on at the same time. I want to fall in love with nothingness again.