A.N. | Fake dopamine
Why cant I like things a normal amount? Why so they have to be this all-consuming thing? Why am I back at maladaptive daydreaming? Why this yt channel is hurting me so much? Why can't I live a life, why do I just keep thinking about living it, about doing stuff that's impossible and out of my reach? And even thw stuff that would be possible... Why don't I do them?
I write and then I realize all that I'm writing is devoid of both soul and substance. I don't know anything about this life I'm writing about. I'm just a depressed shut-in that hates herself regardless of what friends and family might tell her. Hell, there are men who want to fuck me, who want to be with me beyond fucking me. And it's all meaningless still.
I'm the worst fucking person in my life. Nothing has damaged me as much as myself. No one has hurt me as much as myself. I have no reason to live like this. I had plenty of opportunities to get good jobs, to finance a house, to have a car, to have a fun social life. And I fucked it up for nothing. Because I'm a piece of shit.
Holy shit, I don't think I ever expected to be this miserable in my 30s. I don't know if I've ever felt this hopeless and lost.
Maintaining this body is a nightmare.
Working is a nightmare.
This life is a nightmare.
And my only sources of respite are turning out to be toxic and addicting.
Viver é insuportável.