I don-t remember the last time I-ve eaten something without after feeling disgusted, physically or with myself. My eating habits have become more and more irregular and unhealthy, and I can-t find pleasure in eating neither my favorite foods. But still I eat three meals a day. Without racking afterwards.
Sometimes is the kitchen or the living room with its dirtiness the cause for that (you see them and the pleasure in cooking or eating in them disappears), sometime it-s myself.
I feel ugly, fat, and soon-to-be old for nothing. My expression in the mirror is dead, or it-s desperate, and I hate myself even more for that.
I don-t sleep very well… sleep is easy and it makes time pass, but these days falling asleep is not so easy anymore. Dreams aren-t notable or funny or like they used to be, I get up more tired than when I come to bed.
Novels sometimes restablish myself in a quite content mood, but it doesn-t last and I haven-t much time for reading anyway. Talking with people helps, too, a little.
Unfortunately, the people I want really really to talk to are also the same people I want to yell against to, and the same people that have proven to me their talk about friendship is absolutely bullshit when it doesn-t involve a suicide project or a silly recital, and that so much better of talking and cope with real but oh-so-absolutely- sadly unpleasant things is running away, or forget and continue to living with suicide projects as the Better and the Sole vision of life. Throwing in the toilet anything else, and anyone else, filling the air with conjures of separation cause so they have the simpler and perfect excuses to avoid to face the so unforgivable Other Opinion.
And about talking… well, you need to take a course first, about hows and whens and ifs… hoping that for some miraculous gracious whim of the web you-ll be considered worthy of recognition, and maybe your words and thoughts and feelings would be accorded a place in the collective memory of that mystic entities The Group (a group who exist only to reaffirm the gerarchical order of its members). But talking for real, at the same fucking level, asking and reaching out, letting defenses drop for a while, being scared like hell but trying anyway because yes, reality scares a lot, trying to solve misunderstandings with time and presence , communicating with words and not with plats or cups against a wall, or with the martyred silence… well, it-s another thing.
A thing that maybe the first, or the second, or even the third time don-t work, but in the end it will. Or maybe will not, but it will be the effort that will make a difference. The effort that won-t say I-m letting you down cause you don-t want to obey my description of life, or I-m letting you down because friends have absolutely no responsabilities between each other, so they can drag each other down in every destructive way they are, and dream of another way is absolutely forbidden.
A thing not everyone is worth of, but friends are. Friends that want to be and have real friends, not invisible presence, not wall against an enemy outside, not people to make your life simple and calm and umperturbed, friends knowing that web or alcool or fandom or money are not the most important thing in life. friends that want to be real everytime, not only when they are useful, or docile, or silent.
People who prefer to run away, to be absolutely in control, to suffer in silence instead of speaking of a problem, blaming others but never themselves, never reaching out… that I-m letting down.
And I hate myself cause even if I was let down first, I think it must be also my failure if we are gone this far, cause this was a relationship between people, but alone I couldn-t do no more.
And writing this will not make a difference, cause it will be ignored or dismissed like bullshit like always (or maybe know who, this time-I'll be erased from Another friends list ... internet is full of Possibilities for bimbominkia Such acts), and the causes if we where face to face, so much for words of talking, this time , I WANT to throw a plat Against Them, not a wall. But Im tired to Have my head as the only companion for These thoughts.
Paraphrasing Pennac, tanrto, we're all in shit up to his neck, and I will not be sure-I to the rise in the tide with a bit of- depressed in the network rambling
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