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Category: Writing and Poetry

i think there's something fundamentally wrong with me

i think there is something fundamentally wrong with me. 

that sounds really dramatic and if i saw that on tumblr or twitter or something I'd repost it and think 'cute but cringe'

but yeah, somethings not right. i mean everyone thinks that, and none of my experiences are original, so theoretically there must be someone or multiple someones who think the same way as me and is in the same exact situation as i am in right now. but also every human is unique in some way shape or form so what the fuck do i do with that information?

i think about this a lot, i think about things a lot. if I'm not thinking, I'm dying.

some things i wish i thought less about is my body, food and love. i am always thinking about godamn food.

maybe if i loved food less i could focus on love, like finding it, holding it, just plain old feeling it. but now in my head its just a back up if I'm full.

maybe if i loved food less i could focus less on my body, in my head i think about it just before love, after I'm full.

I'm just always so hungry.

i wish i could just eat myself and blink out of existence, you'd think that would fill me up?

I've thought about writing all of this down in a journal, to give to some therapist or doctor or something. but everything i write makes no sense, its repetitive and would one-hundred percent not pass an English teachers approval, and for some reason that's what i judge my worth on. my life is just one big argumentative essay. lame.

I've even thought of writing a book, publishing it to find those 'some or multiple someones who think the same way as me and is in the same exact situation as i am in right now' people, but i probably wouldn't make it past an editor. i can see the dreaded email now:

Dear Very Mentally Unwell Individual Who Is Scarily Illiterate and Probably A Homosexual,

I have decided that I could edit and possibly silently reject your novel and go on with my life, but because of how monumentally this work of literature bugged me, i am going to personally send this to you.

I may even mail it, this is something I think you need to hear.

Please don't ever be a writer. The End.

I guess even writing a fake i-hate-you-die email is not apart of my limited talents. i tried, was it funny?

i think if i went a day without making someone laugh I'd explode. don't take that in a sad way, although I'm sure that it has something to do with my childhood or my mom or whatever the hell my poor friends think when i say something like this to them. (do my friends read into what i say and psychoanalyze me?)

I'm incredibly selfish to wonder if my friends think about more than just what i put out for everyone to see, they don't owe me anything, why do i feel like they 'need' to look deep into my soul and figure out how i work, like it makes them a bad friend if they don't know that the reason i do simple daily task a certain way is because i have something rotting in my memories. why cant i just be so endlessly selfless that i let everyone walk over me and take things from me, like the kind of people fall in love with in media?

wanting to be loved is my specialty. 

but when someone does its so foreign and almost gross to me, it makes me feel so big like I've detached from my body and I'm just looking at them like. "dude that's so awkward, cant you tell they aren't into you?" when just five minutes before i was probably imagining our whole lives together, rewriting all my stupid plans from before to perfectly fit them. 

maybe this could be the start to some book that would get rejected or maybe it could become a book people will hold and realize that someones out there, living their life just as fundamentally wrong as i am. but for now I'm posting this here as an unfinished something. read it, eat it, ignore it, worship it, i don't care. I'm alive.

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