Dear Diary two

t has been around 60 days since I secluded myself back to my darkened home, where all I do is eat, sleep, and play video games. I haven’t spoken to anyone on the phone in a few days. I did venture out during a storm and spent time with my father, only to receive passive-aggressive tones and comments on how to live my life and how I needed to change. They all wonder why I don’t bother to be around them. I heard from my mother the other day; she was in a psychotic, drug-fueled rage, so that was pretty cool. I fell back into my biggest vice, chasing something that never was and never will be. I often sit here smoking all day and sleeping. I mean, really, for what reason should I get out of bed? I have often gone days without hearing someone’s voice or using my own, just lying in bed thinking of what my life could have been like. Everyone wants to talk to me online and be my friend, but it all just feels like too much. I have worked hard for the past four months to kill the loneliness, but I am even closer to stepping off the edge than I ever was. It all just seems pointless. Like, why keep going? What is the purpose and reason? I hear I have talent and that I am amazing, but I have never felt talented or amazing in my life. Why was I cursed with a misfiring brain that is just broken? Honestly, I am just lonely, but I don’t want to mess up someone’s day and burden them with myself. I feel like a burden, so I just medicate the pain away. It amazes me that I am not leaned over some stranger’s sink with a needle in my arm, begging for the pain to stop. How have I lasted this long and been this strong? I am not sure how to feel anymore; the only peace I get is when I shut my eyes. I quite enjoy it. Depression is hell, but being stuck in it is comfort. My secrets and regrets dance around me like wraiths.