He doesn't like to see me like this. He wants to hear that I am in actual pain, that there is something organic and tangible we can treat, we can medicate.




The Pit, the Abyss, the Void has found me again.

I've done too well for too long. It's only right.

These feelings too, will pass.



They well up inside me, waves crashing on the jagged rocks of my self-esteem.

Worthlessnes: crash.

Despair: crash.

Self-loathing: crash.



Or something like that. I don't know if I'm making sense.



People are sheep and the Void is inevitable but they bleat on blindly as if the world makes sense, as if it's anything but cruel and meaningless but we who are different, who are damaged and broken and slightly off know better.



YOU WILL NEVER BE HAPPY, it tells me.

YOU WILL NEVER FIT IN.

YOU WILL NEVER BE FREE OF ME.



Shut

the fuck

up.