Here there be monsters (socratic) wrote,
Here there be monsters
socratic

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I guess the cleaning lady quit. She didn't give notice or leave a note, she just walked out. I don't suppose she's going to return the money my mother paid her in advance either, which is pretty unkind. I guess I'm just that terrible to be around. I don't feel guilty though, people should not assume that they can violate my personal space and throw my stuff away without my having an emotional reaction. Whatever, I am so alone now that I don't even know how to be around people anymore. Some guy just invited me to play poker with him and the gang tonight but I'm not going to go. I can't be around a crowd right now. I've moved beyond them in some ways and in others am still behind them.

My life is a fucked up worthless mess. I wish I were dead to the point where I might do something about it. If I ever kill myself it will be by jumping out a window. To experience that freedom of just falling before your head hits the ground and you die, it's gotta be the best way to go. I think there's a pretty decent chance that if the summer continues in the vein that it's going I WILL swan dive before it ends. I'm okay with that, my self confidence and dreams of the future have been thoroughly shredded to the point where I no longer hold delusions of being okay anymore.

I am a nasty, horrible, sluggish, pathetic, vermin. I DESERVE to die. The world would be better off if I were dead. My fucking existance was a goddamned mistake to begin with. Getting better is only possible for people who have a worthwhile core inside the rot around them. I do not. I am infested through and through and stand together only as a shambling mass of diseased worthlessness.

The great thing about hating yourself is that you can destroy yourself without reservation or mercy. Other people, well you can never truly know who they are or what they deserve, but yourself...yourself you can judge.

I'll slit my own throat and bring a mirror so I can laugh at myself as I lie gasping on the ground for breath I cannot possibly ever get, and as I vomit blood and bile and feel myself drowning in a coppery sea.

I want to tear at myself from the inside until I am dead, ragged, remains of flesh. Of what once was an almost human.
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