27.7.2000

The other day someone asked me what I did all last year and I realised I didn't know the answer to that one. Yes, I studied. But not much, only a few hours (max.) a day. What did I do the other times?

I read through some earlier diary entries. They don't help because I mostly write about how miserable I am, there's hardly anything about what I've done.

But anyway, I came across this tiny entry from last September:
" 'all love must die.'
I don't believe that."

It made me think, because I remember writing that and not believing in all love dying. And it made me think because of what P. said recently in relation to something I had said.
I think I don't believe in love anymore. I don't believe in undying love. I don't believe that love conquers all and I don't believe anything could ever last.

Earlier, when I wrote that entry, I think I wanted to believe in love, and that's why I did. The world would've been too painful and horrible without being able to have faith in such a thing.

Now I can't hope and dream anymore. Now things are too real. Now I know I'll never get anything I want to.

I hurt.

I hardly realise I exist, on most days.

I cannot bear talking to people I love (note 'love'. I cannot ignore it completely) and this makes me deeply miserable. It makes me frustrated, and horribly angry at myself. It makes me want to die. If I can't talk to them, there's no way I could ever deal with the other stuff (real-life).

And if I can't do things I'd really want to do, how could I ever be able to have anything I want to have? Because in a way I believe I should be able to control myself completely. I should be able to affect my daily fears and issues and make myself do things I want to do. And if I can't make things that are under my control happen, how could I ever have any of the things I cannot affect? (Ie. have someone love me.) I can't make anyone love me, so how could anyone love me? There are really very few reasons I can think of why people wouldn't completely ignore me. There are no reasons I could think of why others would love me.

See, whatever you say, it won't change anything. Let's quote someone: "It's worth mentioning that [...] there were a lot of nice things said about me, to me, etc, regarding both just myself and my talents in writing and music and such. But these didn't count for some reason whenever I was looking to feel worthless and horrible."
I have, of course, no talents in writing or music but the basic principle is the same.

I'm looking to feel worthless and horrible. I think I deserve it. I think I need to feel worthless and horrible in order to have the right to be alive. It's my share. It's my purpose in this life. I exist merely to feel worthless and horrible. I exist merely to hurt.

I cannot think I don't deserve to be happy because the whole possibility of being happy is impossible. I disregard it because it isn't even an option anymore. Happiness is something other people have in life, whereas I only have misery. I don't, however, deserve to die because that'd mean I was trying to improve my status in some way, and that's totally unacceptable.

Some kind of peace of mind might be possible but that I don't deserve (like I don't deserve death). I don't want to be loved because I don't deserve that. It conflicts with my belief of what is normal. If someone loved me, I'd be put in an impossible situation because I would have to, in my opinion, to be able to either fake happiness or not to be visibly miserable for their sake. This pressure accomppanied with the belief that I should be able to be something more and that they cannot love me if I'm not constantly improving myself makes the situation unbearable.

So if I don't constantly better myself and become wittier and deeper and better in all ways, you cannot continue loving me. If you care about what I write, you will also stop caring about it at some point. If you care about me, you don't care about what I write (in the sense of whether it's good or bad or deep or shallow). So in a way, if I suddenly started writing shallow entries you would mind not because you didn't have anything good to read anymore, but maybe because you were worried about me, or something. (I realise this doesn't really make sense.)

Whereas I all the time partly expect you to be disappointed because my abilities are the only reason why anyone could ever be content with me. If I suddenly write or do something stupid and shallow you'll think of me as stupid and shallow. And that, automatically, means that you'll stop loving me.

Because what I am is what I do. And if you like me because you think I'm deep or whatever, what happens when you realise I'm not as deep as you thought I was? Because, really, I am not deep. I'm not wonderful, beautiful, smart or anything even remotely attractive. I'm lost and sullen and mostly very destructive. I cannot be what you think I am. Because I am not what I do. Not to me.

I realised, the other day, that I haven't whined nearly enough about my school-years. Something made me realise that. "You know what happens if you keep picking on someone and telling them they're useless and worthless?" Of course I do. And I was negatively surprised to realise that you might not understand it. Here I am, writing a journal, and I haven't made it absolutely chrystal clear to everyone that I do know such things.

I don't write much about my past. There are maybe two entris about some things, but IIRC nothing else. Mostly I whine about present things because I need to let them out. I don't need to let the past things out (read: I don't want to talk about it).
I cannot read about other people's memories. They make me physically ill (to the verge of throwing up, sometimes). This might make you realise how horrible I feel about my past and how unable I am to deal with it.

It's just... I put too much weight on it sometimes. That's why I don't talk/think about it. It isn't a necessary subject to talk about but perhaps it would explain a thing or two. Not that much needs to be explained. But I live with it too much. I still repeat patterns of behaviour that were made up during days when things were extremely different from what they are now. They limit my present actions. And that disturbs me. I don't want to fuck everything up just because of something that happened ten years ago.
<childlish>It's not fair!</childlish>

And in a way I'm still horribly unable to cope. People need intensive therapy for years to deal with things, sometimes. I haven't had intensive therapy for years. I've barely stopped having nightmares about things. They've barely stopped happening. I haven't had enough time to deal with them, and to get my life back together. I'm indecisive and insecure and I'm nowhere near whole as a person.

I'm still a damn immature kid disguised as an adult, and I shouldn't be dealing with anything else before I've sorted myself out. This is what's so damn frustrating. I feel I cannot love anyone before I've sorted myself out but I don't want to sort myself out unless there's some reason to do that.

I should grow myself a thicker skin but I'd rather die.

I told you I have issues.

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