diary entry (6.18.23)

entry 6.18.23

I don’t think I really have a chance at loving myself. there isn’t anything I like. I think, even if I were stripped down to my bare bones, I’d still find something to hate. Spending 30 minutes everyday looking in the mirror, staring at every flaw and picking at every pore, isn’t a pass time I enjoy but I can’t figure out how to stop. I don’t even know what or who I want to look like, regardless I know I wouldn’t like what I see. 

I’m often told we as humans are wild like any other animal, but I never feel more human than in moments like these. A true animal wouldn’t cry over the minute detail of its skin, yet that’s all I seem to do: cry over nothing of importance. 

Sometimes, I wish I were a small prey animal because that’s exactly how I feel inside. And maybe if I were vermin there’d be someone merciful enough to put me out of my misery. 

There’s got to be more to life than this. I live in monotony, an agonizing cycle I desperately cling to because I don’t know what else to do. Happiness and being loved/giving love feel so scary and I can’t figure out why. Feelings are fleeting, sure, but this hopeless feeling hasn’t truly gone away since the moment I first felt it. 

- juno.

ps. please be nice! this is very personal to me and shows a very dark part of mind, but I still want to share for anyone out there that feels a similar way.