Sometimes i wonder what’s wrong with me, what’s so broken in me that normal things seem difficult, or un-natural. Things that I should probably not admit to, but shall. Things like family. I don’t really feel a sense of family at all. I never really have. I don’t walk around like omg i love my family they’re the best. We’re not close. Don’t get me wrong, I think i love them. I feel more positively about them than other people, so i guess that’s the same. But i have absolutely no urge or desire to spend time with them, to talk to them, to do anything. Which makes me sound like a massive bitch. But i guess the important bit is that i do make an effort. The problem is i have crippling mental health issues. So sometimes making an effort is just thinking about messaging them or going to see them, and then getting too tired. Or trying to be polite when i say no to gatherings. But sometimes, the mental health stuff feels more like an excuse. Because really, i don’t want to go out or do anything or partake in small talk. It’s not personal to my family. I’m the same with everyone. But for some reason society says it’s alright for family to call you out on it. I mean, there’s the whole fact that i stick out like a sore thumb too. I’m not talking about the literal elephant in the room. I’m talking about personality. I just don’t gel with either side of my family. The conversation doesn’t flow. We don’t really have fun spending time together. I don’t really belong anywhere. So what the fuck is wrong with me? They deserve so much better.
Sometimes i wonder what’s wrong with me when it comes to self motivation. Why can i just not get off the sofa? Why do i not really care what happens to me? The list goes on.
Sometimes i think “fuck it all” and i have a bath or go to bed or i just sit and cry for hours on end.
Sometimes i partake in a little retail therapy and then feel so guilty about it i never allow myself to use the stuff i buy. Either that or i never get round to using it because i’m sick all the time.
Sometimes i think that i’d be better off dead. Actually, it’s all the time. It used to be only when things were bad. But even when things don’t seem so dark, i still can’t shake the feeling that I just need to die.
Sometimes I write poems and then i tear them up or i delete them all because they are never ever good enough. It’s all i really enjoy doing. And i’m shite at it.
Sometimes it just feels like i’m so broken, there’s no fixing me.