I'm a stain
2003-02-27 || 9:10 a.m.

I really don't want to wake up anymore. Every aspect of my life is squalor and I'm tired of it. I wish that I could just get far, far away from here. I know it could only ever be a temporary thing but just to be away and pretending for a short time would be heaven.

I can't understand why I was made of darkness when everyone else is made of light. Would it be better or worse if there was someone else made of darkness too? Worse I suppose because then I'd feel bad for them. Just like that monk who said that as a Christian he couldn't accept the existence of hell because how could he be truly happy in heaven if he knew even one person was suffering in hell.

There is no light in me I am just pure filth and this squalor, madness and misery reflects that but how come it hurts?

I know the answer to that one. I know why I cannot accept my true nature, I know why I fight against it. It is because it intensifies the experience of pain.

My head is so fucked that my brain feels contorted. It squeezes the last bit of me out. And if you could stretch my soul out like a tapestry it would be the rankest, nastiest thing you would have ever seen. Then it would begin to disintegrate and turn to dust and all that would be left would be an uneasy feeling that you may just have glimpsed true hell.

And yet I'm kind and beautiful too. And every day I try hard and every day I am thoughful to others and every day I would give away anything to anyone if they would just say the word.

But they never do and they never will.